Gospel Story Finder

One day, a friend and I were eating at a restaurant when we overheard some people nearby talking about religion. A girl mentioned that she’d met two men on bikes who offered to talk to her about God. After meeting with them for a few weeks, she accepted their invitation to be baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
One friend started asking complicated questions and urged her to change her mind. She looked uncomfortable, admitted that she didn’t know all the answers, but said it still felt right to be baptized. She told them that all she wanted was their support.
My friend and I could tell that she was now concerned. We couldn’t ignore the prompting to speak up.
Before we left, we walked over and said, “We hate to interrupt, but we overheard that you’ve decided to be baptized! We are members of the Church and want you to know that you are making the best decision of your life. Keep reading and praying about the Book of Mormon.”
A year later, I was listening to a lesson at church and the teacher shared a story about his fiancée. One day, she had been praying to know if she should be baptized. That same night, she went to a restaurant with some friends. They started talking about religion and her decision to be baptized. Her friends told her to avoid the missionaries and to not be baptized.
She felt frustrated at their lack of support. Then two people approached her and said that they were members of the Church. They encouraged her to be baptized and to continue reading and praying. The teacher’s fiancée told him that having those two strangers come up and boldly share their testimonies was an answer to her prayers.
I am so grateful that my friend and I listened to the prompting to speak up and to stand for what’s right.

“Come on, James,” Laura grumbled as she tugged her little brother’s hand. “I have homework to do, and I need to get home.” “But didn’t you see that lady?” James protested. “She was in the doorway over there by the hardware store, and she had a big bag.” “I didn’t notice.” Laura carefully checked traffic before guiding James across the street.
“But, Laura, she didn’t even have a coat on, and it’s snowing.”
“She can go downtown to the shelter,” Laura assured James. “It’s warm there.”
“She needs a coat,” James stated matter-of-factly, half-running to keep up with his sister’s long strides.
“You can’t do anything about that,” Laura said, pulling open the door to their apartment building. “I’ll make you a snack now,” she said, “but then please don’t interrupt me while I do my math. Mom and Dad will be home soon.”
James nodded and twisted the tip of his mitten, still thinking about the lady standing with her arms wrapped around her in the cold.
After supper was over and the kitchen had been cleaned, James put on his jacket, hat, and mittens and grabbed his bulging backpack. “Laura, if your homework’s done, will you take me for a walk?”
“Why? It’s snowing and cold.”
“I need exercise. My teacher said that children should get lots of it.”
Laura sighed, and James gave her a big hug. “Pleeeease,” he pleaded.
“Oh, all right.” Laura pulled on her coat. “We’ll be back in fifteen minutes,” she hollered to Mom.
James skipped along beside Laura as they walked down the block.
“You sure are full of pep tonight,” she said. “And why the backpack—is that to build your muscles too?”
James giggled and twirled around. “You’ll see,” he said, smiling.
When they reached the corner with the stoplight, Laura turned around, but James stood still, staring at the empty doorway near the hardware store. “The lady’s gone!”
“I told you she’d probably go to the shelter.”
“But I brought her a present.” James unzipped his backpack. “See—I have a blanket for her. It’s my blue one. I don’t use it anymore. Now what can I do?”
Laura looked at James’s watery eyes and quivering lip. She smiled gently. “Maybe we can take your blanket to the shelter,” she said. “But we’ll have to ask Mom and Dad if it’s OK to give it away, and we’ll need one of them to drive us there.”
Mom and Dad listened as James told them about the lady and asked to take the blanket to the shelter. By the time he’d finished, Laura came from her bedroom, carrying some sweaters. “If we can go to the shelter, I’ll take these—OK? I’ve outgrown them.”
“Hmmmm,” Dad said. “Wait here.” He and Mom disappeared into their bedroom. They were soon back with an armful of clothes each. “We can take these, too,” he said.
James helped fold the clothes into three bags. Then they all bundled up and stepped out into the hallway of their apartment building. As they shut their door, Mrs. Hopkins, their neighbor, was just going into her own apartment. Noticing their bags, she asked Laura, “Going to visit your grandparents?”
“No, we’re taking this stuff to the shelter,” James announced proudly before Laura could answer.
“You are?” said Mrs. Hopkins. “Could you wait just a minute?” She hurried inside and soon came back with a box of groceries. “Will you take these for me?”
Meanwhile, Mr. Thomas had opened his door to see what was going on. It turned out that he had two bags of books he wanted to donate. Then Jimmy, his son, gave them a big stuffed bear. Miss Andrews, who lived farther down the hall, gave them some boots and mittens and two coats. By the time they left, their station wagon was full of bags and boxes.
“I’ll help carry the bags,” James said. “They’re not too heavy for me, and I’m a good helper.”
“Yes, you are,” Dad said.
Laura gently ruffled James’s hair sticking out around his cap. “Your one blanket started an avalanche,” she said. “I didn’t know such a little squirt could do that.”

It all started when my friend Brett said, “Last night when I talked to my friend, I found out that her parents have been telling her stuff about our religion, making us sound really bad. She told me that I was wrong for being Mormon, and she seemed to have plenty of evidence. Lots of stuff that I didn’t know about. I figured I can’t defend this if I don’t know what we believe.”
Then he asked me, “Do you want to come over and study scriptures tonight? You know, we could do a little reading, look some stuff up.”
“Seriously?” I hesitated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was just that I was taken off guard. I mean, how many teenagers hang out on weeknights to study the scriptures for fun?
“Sure, I guess,” I accepted slowly. “If you really want to.”
Brett was the only other Church member in my grade, and he’d never seemed very religious. I still remember being surprised my sophomore year when I first met him. He asked me why I chose not to date until I was 16. I was astounded by his question because Brett had been an active member his entire life but he somehow still didn’t know some of the basic teachings of the Church. To him, church was a Sunday thing. I remembered answering Brett’s question about my decision not to date until 16 and then enlightening him on many other standards we had as Church members.
Now, as seniors, we’d grown to be close friends. And once again I found myself surprised by Brett.
I arrived at his house not sure what to expect. As I walked into his family’s study, I noticed the Bible was open and several LDS reference materials were stacked on the desk. He’d already begun. “Look at this,” he said excitedly, pointing to James 2:21–26.
“I thought we could find some answers.” Then he asked, “Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“After listening to my friend, I know I need to study more,” Brett continued.
“So, are you looking up things about the points she made?” I asked.
“Yeah. I can see where she’s coming from, but you know, the more I find out about what we believe,” he continued, “the more I see and feel just how right our beliefs are. It’s exciting. I want you to help me.”
I’d never considered the scriptures exciting before. I felt humbled by his enthusiasm. He wanted my help because I’d read the Book of Mormon, prayed, felt the Spirit, and from then on hadn’t had doubts.
But at that moment, I realized I too needed to search the scriptures more.
Brett and I really studied the scriptures that night and found the answers to his questions. Time and time again, Brett searched the scriptures in response to criticisms of the Church. As he learned to trust the scriptures, his testimony grew. Not only did that study help him talk with his friend, but his example of asking questions and finding the answers in the scriptures made a difference for me too.

While preparing my talk for this conference, I received a shocking phone call from my father. He said that my younger brother had died that morning in his sleep. I was heartbroken. He was only 51 years old. As I thought about him, I felt impressed to share with you some events from his life. I do so with permission.

As a youth my brother was handsome, friendly, and outgoing—totally dedicated to the gospel. After serving an honorable mission, he married his sweetheart in the temple. They were blessed with a son and a daughter. His future was full of promise.

But then he gave in to a weakness. He chose to live a hedonistic lifestyle, which cost him his health, his marriage, and his membership in the Church.

He moved far from home. He continued his self-destructive behavior for more than a decade, but the Savior had not forgotten or abandoned him. Eventually the pain of his despair allowed a spirit of humility to enter his soul. His feelings of anger, rebellion, and militancy began to dissipate. Like the prodigal son, “he came to himself.” He began to reach out to the Savior and to make his way back home and to faithful parents who never gave up on him.

He walked the path of repentance. It wasn’t easy. After being out of the Church for 12 years, he was rebaptized and received again the gift of the Holy Ghost. His priesthood and temple blessings were eventually restored.

He was blessed to find a woman who was willing to overlook the ongoing health challenges from his prior lifestyle, and they were sealed in the temple. Together they had two children. He served faithfully in the bishopric for several years.

My brother died on Monday morning, March 7. The previous Friday evening he and his wife attended the temple. On Sunday morning, the day before he died, he taught the priesthood lesson in his high priests group. He went to bed that evening, never to awaken again in this life—but to come forth in the resurrection of the just.

I am grateful for the miracle of the Atonement in the life of my brother. The Savior’s Atonement is available to each of us—always.

Years ago my brother exercised his agency when he chose a lifestyle that cost him his health, his family, and his membership in the Church. Years later he exercised that same agency when he chose to repent, to conform his life to the teachings of the Savior, and to literally be born again through the power of the Atonement.

I testify of the miracle of the Atonement. I have seen its healing power in the life of my brother and felt it in my own life. The healing and redemptive power of the Atonement is available to each of us—always.

On the night of July 4, 2002, my friend and I attended our Book of Mormon institute class. We stayed after class talking until we noticed that it had gotten late. We began walking home around 10:15, and when we got to the place where we were to split up, we stopped and continued to talk.
Two men passed by and asked us what time it was, but we were so involved in our conversation that we barely heard them. Suddenly they came back. One of them threw his arms around me, putting a knife to my neck. Then he let me go and threatened my friend. The other man asked us for money, and when we said we didn’t have any, they were furious. They demanded our jackets and backpacks.
I had wanted this jacket for a long time and had finally been able to buy it a month before. And I loved my backpack, which my older brother had given me. My friend had homework assignments in her backpack that she needed to turn in. I was really scared—almost frozen in place. It was the first time I had ever been robbed.
Without hesitation we gave them our things. But suddenly I said, “Wait! Please let me take out my Book of Mormon! It’s the only thing of value I have.” The thief gave me a strange look and let me take it out. Then they fled.
I hugged the book and didn’t care about anything else. I felt peace because I had rescued this precious book from two criminals.

The old clock ticked in the dusky light like a tired heartbeat, and the windows in the small living room were filled with the soft, crimson glow of a going-down sun. Eric listened to the ticking as the light in the windows turned from red to gray to black.
From where he lay with Sparky beneath the scraggly branches of the Christmas tree, he could see a falling star plummet past the square of glass. Down, down it came. It was as if God was sending the fiery light to light somebody’s Christmas tree—somebody who was too poor to have an ornamental star for the top of his tree.
“Could be Jess Crowley’s place,” Eric said quietly to the perky little pup whose eyes and lip jerked in sleep. “Or Carrie Ludlow’s. Or maybe even ours. If it was ours, Sparky,” he figured out loud, “someone gave the angels the wrong address, because it landed farther from here than good fortune.”
Good fortune had not been their lot, it seemed to Eric, for longer than his eight-year-old mind cared to remember. His mother had died three years before, and his father had barely escaped death in a car accident a year later. The accident had left him too disabled to work. If it weren’t for the kindnesses of ward members, Eric speculated to himself, and the saving assistance from the Church, I don’t know what would become of us. With that computer someone left on our doorstep last year, though, Dad’s been able to get some jobs working at home. “So don’t you worry about not having a place to hang your hat,” he spoke aloud to the little dog, “or whatever it is dogs carry around with them—besides fleas, of course.” He chuckled softly, stroking Sparky’s head.
Twisting and peering through the open living room door, Eric could barely make out the sleeping form of his father in the room at the end of the hall. A spray of moonlight hazed across his bed. The boy eyed the figure affectionately. Dad was strong in the faith and had taught him to be so too. Dad had also taught Eric that they had problems in their lives not because Heavenly Father was punishing or ignoring them but because He loved them, knew what was best for them, and wanted them to grow and be happy. In spite of their sadness.
Eric stretched out beneath his worn, frayed blanket. There was plenty of room under the tree, even though it was just two days before Christmas, for there were only two presents there. The one wrapped gift was a little bird for his father that Eric had fashioned out of wood at school. His father loved birds. He said a bird could get closer to heaven than most of the rest of us, “except when we pray. And except for your mother,” he added warmly, “who may at this very moment be walking and talking with the Savior himself!”
The other gift was from Dad to Eric: Sparky. Dad had given the pup to Eric early. “It’s too hard to wrap up a dog,” Dad had said, “and expect her to lie still under a Christmas tree until some boy unwraps her!”
Eric gently stroked the puppy’s fur that was every bit as soft and warm as Dad’s love. He could hardly wait for the day when the little dog was big enough to run full tilt next to his flying feet.
He reached up and touched a tiny glass ornament glowing in a speck of moonlight that had found its way through the window and down through the shadowy branches of the scraggly pine.
“It sure does have a regular shine when the moon works on it, doesn’t it?” The voice came from behind Eric. His father sat down beside him in the sooty light, a blanket draped about his shoulders.
“I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake you, Dad.”
“You didn’t, Son. The bedsprings did. I rolled over and heard a chorus of rusty voices!” He chuckled, then ran his fingers through the boy’s golden hair. “I saw you in here camped out under the tree with that little fur piece of yours, and I thought I’d tuck you in.”
Eric smiled. His attention momentarily returning to the glitter of the glass ornament in the moon’s glow, he turned it slowly and watched the flash of revolving light.
“Something else shines just as pretty as that,” his father remarked. “It’s love, when the Savior puts His shine to it—except that glow is much, much brighter. It’s so bright, in fact, that you almost have to close your eyes to see it!”
Eric’s quiet, probing look asked his father to tell him more.
“This tree may be little and spindly, but the stable in Bethlehem wasn’t much to look at either—yet it held the greatest gift of all, God’s gift to all mankind, even Jesus Christ. And what He gave to you, me, your mom, and everyone else that ever was, is, or will be, is something so precious and priceless . …”
Eric squeezed his father’s hand with quiet understanding.
“Well,” Dad continued with a smile through his tears, “if we were to try to hang His gifts to us on this tree, they would break every branch. And if we tried to stack them beneath it, we’d break our necks trying to look up. And up. All the way to heaven. Where your mom is waiting for you and me.”
“I guess we have more for Christmas than what every store in the world has in it put together,” Eric said, “and a lot more, huh, Dad?”
Dad lay down next to his son and hooked his arm as a pillow under Eric’s head. Together they gazed up into the dark branches of the little tree and shared memories that shined like hope and faith and the sweet surety that families can be forever, that things eternal never die—all because of one small Babe born long ago in the city of David, Bethlehem, and placed in a manger there.

We were nearly halfway through the journey from Utah to our homestead in New Mexico. For several days we had found no water, and our barrels were low. The men were becoming anxious. We knew from the map that we were coming into Indian territory.
When we reached the edge of the reservation the wagons stopped for our leaders to consult. Because of his experience with Indians, Papa was chosen to go ahead and see what arrangements he could make. As we slowly drove on, we had a feeling that we were being watched.
“I hope the village ahead has plenty of water,” Papa said.
“I hope they are friendly,” Mama replied.
“I’m prepared to take care of that even if they’re not,” Papa assured her.
“How?” Mama asked.
“I have a trick up my sleeve,” he answered, but he would tell her no more.
In a few moments we saw a cluster of huts up ahead. And about the same time two little girls with black braids ran from the shadows toward the village.
“Messengers,” Papa observed.
“What do we do now?” Ed asked.
“Wait,” Papa said and pulled the horses to a stop. He jumped down, climbed in the back of the wagon, and came out carrying his unfinished basket and a hank of straw.
“You children stay in the wagon,” he instructed firmly. And we settled in a spot where we could watch what was going on.
Papa sat down on the ground and began weaving. It seemed to me like a silly time and place to finish his basket, but I had learned that patience answers many questions, so I watched and waited.
Before long five or six braves came riding up on their ponies and formed a circle around Papa.
“You cannot cross Indian land,” one insisted.
Papa said nothing but kept on with his work.
“Go back,” another brave said, pointing in the direction we’d come from. “Do not cross Indian land.”
Papa nodded to acknowledge he had heard but he stayed where he was. Nothing moved but his hands. I had watched him make many baskets, and I knew that his fingers could fly as fast as frightened quail. Now he was weaving slowly, exaggerating the in and out movements as he laced the wide strips between the twisted upright ribs.
The belligerent expression on the Indians’ faces changed to curiosity. One by one they slid off their ponies and came closer. After they had watched awhile, Papa handed the basket to one of the braves, who copied the motions he had been watching. The Indian smiled at his handiwork. Then the basket was passed around the circle, with each brave taking a turn at the weaving and all of them becoming excited and pleased.
Papa began a new basket and handed some straw to one of the Indians to start one too. Before long each brave was sitting cross-legged on the ground, busy on a basket. Papa had motioned to Ed and me to climb down from the wagon, and we slipped out quietly and stood by his side. Other Indians came one by one and soon quite a crowd was watching the activity.
I turned to look toward the village and saw a large squaw coming toward me with a loop stretched open between her hands. Smiling, she came closer and closer, holding the noose high as if to place it over my head and around my neck. To choke me, I thought, and began to shake with fear. Please, Heavenly Father, save me, I silently prayed. My hands tightened on Papa’s arm, and he sensed my fright.
“It’s all right, Dora,” he assured me. “She won’t hurt you.”
By now the squaw was close enough so that I could see she was holding a beautiful necklace of dried berries and seeds. She placed it over my head saying, “Pretty, pretty.” I guess she had never seen yellow hair before.
All of a sudden I felt that she was a special person, and I wanted to do something for her. I climbed into the wagon and found the mirror I had brought rolled up in my sweater so it wouldn’t break. It was a round one with a handle. I handed it to the squaw and when she looked at it and saw her face reflected back, she was delighted. She showed it around with great pride, pointing to her image and laughing.
While the braves worked and the others watched, Papa spoke to them in gentle tones. “We want to be friends and will do you no harm. We are moving to New Mexico and would like to cross your land. We have our food and supplies with us. We need to stop tonight to rest our horses and fill our water barrels. We will leave tomorrow. Other wagons are behind waiting to hear your answer.”
At this point, five more braves and the chief rode up at a gallop. They began to talk rapidly in their own language with the weavers, who jumped up, showing off their baskets. After some discussion the chief turned to Papa and asked, “What are you teaching?”
“Basketmaking,” Papa said. “How to make baskets.”
“Basket,” one brave repeated, pointing to what he had done.
“You are good,” the chief said. “You can camp here tonight. There is plenty of water.” Then he motioned for Papa to mount one of the ponies, and they rode back together to get the rest of the camp to join us.

It was Ryan’s birthday. When he woke up that morning, he remembered he was five now. Ryan quickly got out of bed and looked at the birthday card on the dresser. It had come in the mail two days ago from Grandmother in Florida. She had also sent him a toy truck.
Ryan put on his clothes and ran into the kitchen. No one was there. He ran into his parents’ bedroom. It was empty and the bed had been made. Where are they? he wondered.
Next he went to his sister Cindy’s bedroom. She was sitting up reading a book. “Happy birthday,” she said and got up and gave him a big hug and a kiss.
“Where is everybody?” Ryan asked.
Cindy laughed. “They’ve gone to get your present. They’ll be back soon.”
“Is it big?” he asked.
“Pretty big.”
“Is it heavy?”
“Pretty heavy.” Cindy started to laugh.
Ryan thought hard. I can’t imagine what could be big and heavy, unless …
“Is it a horse?” he asked.
Cindy laughed so hard she couldn’t speak. She just shook her head.
“Does it come in a box?” Ryan asked.
“No,” Cindy said.
Ryan decided she was teasing him. He quickly ran through the house again to see if his parents were hiding somewhere, but he couldn’t find them.
Now Ryan was really puzzled. He couldn’t understand where his parents could have gone and why Cindy was laughing so happily. He started to go to his room when he heard someone open the front door. He heard Father’s voice and then Mother’s laughter. He ran out into the hall as fast as he could.
There were his parents. Father was holding a big birthday cake. And behind his mother was … ! Ryan’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. Behind his mother was the neatest birthday present in the world. It was pretty big and pretty heavy. And it wasn’t in a box.
Ryan was so surprised that he stood still, unable to move. Then somebody lifted him up and swung him around.
Ryan smiled from ear to ear. No one else could have a birthday present like this, he decided.
“Remember me? Last time I saw you, you were just three. And look at you now. I could hardly wait for my mission to be over so I could see how you’ve grown. I was able to come home a few days early to surprise you.” Then Ryan’s big brother lifted him up onto his shoulders.
“Happy birthday, Ryan!” he said. “Happy birthday!”

“There is one important thing I want you to do,” said my seminary teacher, Brother Matthews, as we walked out the door together. He grabbed a pen and a sticky note and drew a smiley face on it. He then stuck it on the door. “This is to remind you to smile only.” His idea seemed touching and genuine, but I still could force only a half-smile. “I can’t wait to see the day when there will be a happy you,” he said as I left.
As I walked to school, I couldn’t help thinking about the difficulties posed by this little challenge. It seemed like a lot of work for something so simple. Besides, you can’t force yourself to smile and be happy, can you? The days went on and there was still no improvement in my face. I wanted to please my seminary teacher, say that I was happy, and get it over with. I knew, however, deep down, that I wasn’t truly happy. I had to truly commit to this task.
As I set a daily goal of smiling more, I began to notice a gradual change in my life. I began to be more optimistic and upbeat. I found myself becoming better about avoiding gossip and other teenage behaviors that can destroy happiness. Looking back, I am able to see that simply smiling not only changed my attitude but also helped me make more friends. By “smiling only,” I was able to have a more positive attitude, and other people seemed to enjoy being around me more.
Heavenly Father doesn’t want us to be unhappy. He wants us to have joy here on earth. Smiling is a way to see true happiness in yourself and in others. I am so grateful for a Heavenly Father who wants me to be happy. I still keep the motto “smiles only,” and it continues to make my life better.

But as I thought about how much God had helped me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to do more to share His gospel with others. I considered serving a mission—but what if I lost everything I had worked so hard to build?
One Sunday, I prayed and fasted about serving a mission. God had helped me know which path to take in my life before, and I trusted He could help me again.
I attended church with my cousin in a ward far away from where I lived. I was surprised to see a sister missionary there who I had befriended a year before. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that I had run into her while I was fasting.
After church, I shared with her my fears about losing all the things that were going well in my life. My friend said, “I was in a similar situation before my mission. Everything felt too perfect to leave. But I knew the Lord wanted me to serve.”
After our conversation, the impression to serve grew stronger. I felt that Heavenly Father was helping me know once again which path to take—I just needed to act and trust Him. So, the next day, I started to work on my mission application.

He said, “Smile ako o. Kita mo? Kita mo smile ko?” (I’m smiling, can you see? Can you see my smile?) Then, he flashed a big, toothy smile. Between shallow breaths, he said “Miss you, miss you,” and pouted his lips, asking me to kiss him. And I did. Later, I realized his “miss you” really meant, “I will miss you.” Those were the last words he spoke. He knew we were going to be physically separated for a few decades, and just wanted me to know that he will miss me, but we will definitely see each other again.
The moment I saw his lifeless body in the hospital bed, I felt the Spirit whisper to me, “He was really supposed to live just up to this day.” The pain was there, the tears flowed freely, but miraculously I felt very peaceful and calm, and knew that everything in this world happens the way God intends or allows it.
I hold on to all the truths I have learned since childhood. The reality of the Plan of Salvation. That birth is not the beginning and death is not the end. The reality that a body dies but the spirit lives. That there is always hope because Jesus Christ has made resurrection available to all. I attribute my clear understanding and calm composure at that moment to the prayers of hundreds of people who love me and my little family, and I am grateful to all of you.
President Joseph Fielding Smith taught, “It is reasonable to believe that in the beginning, before the earth was prepared, the Lord would have all things organized from the beginning to the end of time”1. So there. God is all-knowing. Before the physical creation of the earth, there is a spiritual blueprint for everything. Eons and eons of time ago, He has designed our family life to be this way. We’ll have Titus to lead, teach and ready us for the first 10 years, but at 34 years old his probationary period will be over. We are still a family because we have made eternal covenants in the temple, and we both still have the obligation to lead our children back to Heavenly Father. However, I will just have to do the physical rearing and providing from here on out. And because our lives are designed this way, I am confident that God has already prepared all the necessary help we will ever need.
This the greatest miracle I have ever experienced—the ability to readily align my will to Heavenly Father’s. I call this a miracle because I was not really like this before. I will strive to do the same in all my future trials. I guess the greatest affliction can teach us the greatest lessons. And now I have the testimony that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, because He has overcome sin and death, we can all have peace and even joy in any circumstance.

WELCOME!I’m Sister Simon.Hi! I’m Ramón.Hello. I’m Cathlyn.I’m Mei Lin.Hi! I’m David.And I’m Joshua.
What on earth are you doing, Josh?Archaeology.Sure you are.
This is a very promising dig. I’m unearthing evidence of an early twenty-first century civilization.The early twenty-first century is right now.Exactly. From here I’ll work backward. Soon I’ll be in Book of Mormon times.
Right. So what have you discovered?This!
A CTR ring?Don’t you see? This proves that a young man who wanted to choose the right inhabited this dwelling. I bet with a little more digging, I’ll find a baptismal certificate.
Impressive.Brilliant might be a better word.

Courage counts. This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner many years ago. I was serving as a bishop at the time. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. He then mentioned that Percy Fetzer, who became our new stake president, and John Burt, who became the first counselor—each of whom had been counselors in the previous presidency—had been made aware of their new callings before the conference began. However, he indicated that I, who had been called to be second counselor in the new presidency, had no previous knowledge of the calling and was hearing of it for the first time as my name was read for sustaining vote. He then announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we will be pleased to hear from him now.”
As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. It pertained to the Word of Wisdom and was titled “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” The call for courage comes constantly to each of us—the courage to stand firm for our convictions, the courage to fulfill our responsibilities, the courage to honor our priesthood.

No, the youth from the Muncie Indiana Stake were not taken over by aliens; they were taken over by compassion as they volunteered to help the Habitat for Humanity assist the needy in Muncie.
More than 100 young people came out for a Super Saturday to paint, dig trenches for sewer lines, put up aluminum siding, and install insulation in new homes. These youth, along with other individuals from the community, put in an accumulated total of 1,000 man-hours to provide this service.
One 12-year-old said, “It felt good helping out with this project and knowing someone would be able to enjoy this home and have the comforts which I enjoy every day.”

Some people say the Laurels in Oregon’s Corvallis Third Ward are green.
But not the inexperienced, unsophisticated type of green. And certainly not the jealous type of green. Not even the type of green you turn when you’re seasick. Green is actually meant as a compliment because, in some circles, to be green means to be environmentally conscious—to be doing your part to look after the earth. The Laurels are so environmentally conscious that they decided to put on special ecological firesides for the entire stake and town.
Nobody can say exactly how or when the Laurels turned “green” and decided to put on the fireside.
After all, they live in a state that is exceptionally ecology conscious. High school students are paid quite well for picking up trash, and it shows. Everywhere you look, you see lots of green and very little garbage. And recycling programs are prevalent in almost every city.
Then again, they might have turned green at school. The Laurels attend very ecology-oriented high schools where students have managed to save about 344 trees and 158,000 gallons of water this past year by voluntarily recycling their paper. The halls are filled with recycling bins for aluminum cans, and on certain days, there are student council members outside to greet you when you drive up to school. If you carpool, you get to park in front. If you drive alone, you have to park in the back. Those student council members are often Laurels Lisa Rampton and Jenni Merten. They say it’s worth sitting out in the constant Oregon drizzle to get people thinking about saving gas.
The Laurels might even have grown green at church. They do belong to a church that esteems this earth as a beautiful gift from Heavenly Father.
It seems the Laurels get a message on ecology almost everywhere they go, and they’re doing their best to pass that green message on. “Ecology is somewhat of a trend,” says Lisa, clad in an “Earth Native” T-shirt. “But I think it’s a good trend. It’s not bad to be a fad follower in this case.”
To make their own contribution via the fireside, the Laurels had to start practicing what they were going to preach. The disposal company in Corvallis picks up sorted garbage and ensures that it will be recycled, so those whose families weren’t already sorting their trash into separate bins for paper, cardboard, plastic, aluminum, tin cans, and glass, began to do so. Was it hard to start going that extra mile?
“At first I didn’t want to take the time to wash a can, then take the label off, then take both ends off and smash it down,” says Sherri Lewis, who just entered the Laurel class when the ecology program was in full swing. “But when you start hearing about how recycling helps the environment, it makes you want to do it.”
“You get used to it,” says Kim Hale, who has three sisters, all involved in recycling. “Besides, we take turns taking the bottles and cans to the recycling center, and whoever takes them gets the money for them. That’s a little added incentive.”
The object was for each Laurel to bring a week’s worth of recyclables to the fireside to use as visual aids. It’s surprising to see how much can be recycled. The front of the multipurpose room of the meetinghouse, where the fireside was held, was brimming. “We used to put two big garbage cans out for the trash man each time he came,” says Jenni. “Now we only use one a week. It feels good to know we’re not putting such a strain on the landfills.”
Each Laurel had her own part in the fireside. Lisa conducted and talked about the spiritual reasons for keeping the world God gave us clean. Jenni spoke about the state of the world as it is today, complete with acid rain, air pollution, and dwindling resources. Then Tami McDaniel talked about what each person could do to help ease the strain on the environment.
Since this was a presentation for the whole family, children were involved too. For example, Kim had her six-year-old sister show some of the fun art projects she’d made from things that would usually be thrown away.
Over in the nursery, the Beehives tended the children who were too young to sit through the fireside. The children colored pictures of the earth and of things they like to do outside. They were given a lesson on the creation and their responsibility to keep things clean.
And what fireside would be complete without refreshments? The Laurels served nutritious food that came in as little packaging as possible. All the dishes involved were washed and reused, and instead of paper, they used cloth napkins.
Was the fireside a success? Judge for yourself. The Laurels were asked to repeat it a number of times, and each presentation had quite a few non-LDS people in attendance. Everyone was impressed.
While no one has statistics on how many stake members are now recycling, the fireside definitely helped the Laurels on the personal level. Tami, for example, had just recently been baptized when her class started the ecology project. Her family had been recycling for quite some time, and Tami was well versed on how to be green, so she felt she had something to contribute from the start.
It’s true that no one knows exactly where all this started, and now, no one knows where it will end. The Laurels feel good, about turning green, however, and hope it’s catching.

On the long journey by sea from India to England, Elizabeth’s infant daughter became seriously ill. She died and was buried in Liverpool. Elizabeth later said that losing her baby was so painful that she didn’t know if she could continue. Heartbroken and alone, but encouraged by Elder Franklin D. Richards of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who was serving as president of the European Mission, Elizabeth sailed for Boston, Massachusetts, USA.

After crossing an ocean, Elizabeth found herself in a completely new culture. She traveled by train to Iowa, USA, the end of the westbound railway at the time. Arriving in July 1856, Elizabeth joined the Willie handcart company.

Ever Onward, by Joseph Brickey
The suffering of the Willie and Martin handcart companies is well chronicled. The companies left late in the season and got caught in an early winter in the Rocky Mountains. Freezing and low on food, more than 200 died.
Among the rescue party sent by President Brigham Young was Elizabeth’s husband, William. The couple was reunited in deep snow and freezing wind.
After recovering in Salt Lake City, the couple ended their journey in Cedar City, only a few miles from where Rosalene’s began.

My family lived in the city, but when I was a teenager, I stayed with my uncle during the summers. He managed a cattle ranch with about four thousand cattle. In Argentina, cowboys are called gauchos. All summer I dressed like a gaucho, rode horses like a gaucho, and worked like a gaucho.
At the ranch, I was given the responsibility to ride all of the horses that were kept for visitors. I remember one horse that was very good for working with cattle but very tough mouthed. That means that he did not respond very well to the bit. It was difficult for a rider to control him. One day, I took him out first thing in the morning. When horses go out to work, they are sometimes a little bit like we are. They don’t go out with a great deal of enthusiasm when it is so early.
I usually switched horses around midday. I had been fighting with this horse all morning, so when it was time for me to go back and switch horses, I thought, If you want to run, I’m really going to make you run! I hit him, and he took off—running at full speed! The only problem was that we were coming up on a gate made of large beams. I pulled on the reins, trying to slow him down. But I had forgotten that when horses are heading for home they are much more excited than when they are heading out. That horse was going home, and nothing was going to stop him! He crashed into the gate—but was unhurt—as I flew onto the ground.
The horse I rode on my uncle’s ranch that day had to follow the right path. The ranch was enormous, around ten thousand acres, and if the horse had not stayed on the path, he could have gotten lost. It was good for that horse to go home, but he also needed to go through several gates—not crash into them!

What is the record of Church service of Joseph Smith, Sr.? When he accepted the restored gospel, he found himself. Although previously skeptical of all organized religion, he believed at once in his son’s visions. He physically protected the Prophet during the translation of the plates and became a witness of the Book of Mormon after seeing and handling the plates. He then brought people into the Church as a missionary to the northeastern United States and to his family. In 1833 he was called as Patriarch to the Church. There were other offices: member of the first high council in 1834 and even counselor in the First Presidency for a short time in 1836. But Mormon diaries show that his greatest impact on his fellow Church members was through the blessings given as Patriarch. Many of those blessings were prophetic for Church members who came west. A young college student who attended blessing meetings in Kirtland, Ohio, was Lorenzo Snow, then a nonmember and later president of the Church. His sister, Eliza R. Snow, had induced him to come from Oberlin College to study with the competent Hebrew instructor employed by the Church for the missionaries. She had hoped that he would be exposed to Mormonism while studying Hebrew, and it was Joseph Smith, Sr., who impressed him most toward conversion. For Lorenzo felt his strong inspiration and discerned the appropriateness of instruction given to different people. In recalling his first impressions, Lorenzo Snow later said: “I looked at Father Smith and silently asked myself the question: Can that man be a deceiver? His every appearance answered in the negative. … I had never seen age so prepossessing.”11 His strong convictions attracted strong men to the Church. The most influential Smith of the second generation in Utah was George A., cousin of the Prophet and counselor to Brigham Young. His Uncle Joseph, the Patriarch, visited northern New York to meet initial ridicule of the Book of Mormon even from his family, most of whom were later converted. George A. Smith, then a bright and brash teenager, began to read the Book of Mormon but with the purpose of gathering devastating objections against it. The sequel was not as he expected. In his own words: “On the return of my Uncle Joseph, I undertook to argue with him upon the subject, but he so successfully removed my objections and enlightened my mind, that I have never since ceased to advocate its divine authority.”12 Other converts left records that show the unquestionable sincerity and deep convictions of Joseph Smith, Sr. His total loyalty to the restored church is itself a strong argument for the authenticity of the prophetic mission of his son.

Occasionally the group does have some free time during tours to use as it pleases. Oftentimes group members will sink into peaceful oblivion on the lawn of a chapel where they are to perform, but other times their free moments are spent in ways that attract at least as much attention as their performances.
Sandy Ord, a member of the group for the past two years, remembers a softball game where the boys challenged the girls on the lawn outside their motel. There’s nothing so unusual about that except for the fact the entire game was played without any equipment.
“We had the whole thing,” said Sandy, “umpire, cheerleaders, even a human scoreboard. And since there was no ball, you just pretended where to hit it. The girls were always hitting home runs, and, of course, we won.”

After the end of the 1936 football season, Joseph’s father approached him about serving a mission. War was brewing in Europe, and if Joseph didn’t leave soon, he could lose the chance to serve.
“I wanted to pursue my dream of continuing to play football and to graduate from the university,” Elder Wirthlin said. “If I were to accept a mission call, I would have to give up everything. In those days a mission call was 30 months long, and I knew if I accepted, there was a good chance I would never play football again—perhaps I would not even be able to graduate.”7
But Joseph had also dreamed of being a missionary, and he knew what he must do. A few months later he was on his way to Europe, where he would serve in the German-Austrian and the Swiss-Austrian Missions from 1937 to 1939.
He never played football again, but he did graduate from the university, majoring in business administration. “Even so, I’ve never regretted serving a mission and committing myself to serving the Lord,” he said. “By doing so, my life has been filled with adventure, spiritual experiences, and joy that surpasses understanding.”8