Gospel Story Finder

Christmas was just two weeks away. We had just moved to Moab, Utah, and our family of 11 was living in a three-bedroom trailer without utilities. My parents’ company had gone bankrupt, and there was no back pay. The situation was dismal, to say the least.
My singles ward was planning a service project called “The 12 Days of Christmas.” The bishops in the stake had prayed and selected a family for us to help for 12 days. Considering my family’s situation, I was disappointed that no one had offered to help us. I agreed to buy a gift for a boy in the family, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my own brothers would get for Christmas.
The day came for me to purchase a gift for this boy, and I wanted to get him something special. I decided to go to the local department store to see what toys were popular. After 30 minutes I was getting discouraged because no toys seemed just right for the child.
Then a young boy came into the store. He was about the right age, and his appearance suggested that his family was probably struggling financially. I noticed the thrill on his face as he came across a train set. I knew I had found my gift.
As this little boy’s brother came into the store to get him, I realized that this was the boy I was buying the gift for. I knew this was Heavenly Father’s way of telling me that the stake had picked the right family to serve. I was glad that I had agreed to help them rather than put my own needs first. But I had no idea that more blessings awaited my family.
My father found another job a couple of days before Christmas, and my parents managed to get a small gift for each child. And things were about to get even better.
The day before Christmas, a brother in the ward called the bishop and offered to rent a house to a needy family. It was a large, five-bedroom home with the utilities already working, and best of all, he didn’t expect rent until the next month. The bishop told us about the house, and we moved in that very morning.
Around the corner from the house was a little bar. Someone there noticed us moving in and was touched by our situation. He started collecting donations and brought over a mug filled with cash from perfect strangers.
Another miracle occurred when my father left work for the night. The bosses were passing out Christmas bonuses, but my dad had only been there for two days, so he assumed he wouldn’t get anything. He started to leave, and they said they had something for him. He was surprised to see that each of the men had given up part of their bonuses to share with our family. His company matched the donations. My dad was humbled by their generosity.
That evening, I helped drop off the gifts for our service project. When I got home, my mother told me about the mug of cash and the bonus from work. She had just finished when we heard horns honking. We ran outside and, to our further amazement, dozens of gifts decorated our lawn. We were touched and humbled by the love of strangers for our family. What began as a very meager Christmas had become, instead, a Christmas that we would never forget.
Later, as I thought about the events of the previous month, I realized that Heavenly Father knows each of us. He knows our needs, and He often uses others to meet those needs. But He blesses us the most when we put others first. When I sacrificed my family’s needs to help another family, my family was blessed more than I could have imagined.

Between December 23 and 24 1993, our Oshodi Branch missionaries asked me to go to Sister Patience Ojukwu’s farm to buy old layer chickens for Christmas dinner. When I returned with one, the other companion asked me to get another for them. Arriving at the farm on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Sister Ojukwu informed me that she had lost more than two hundred old layer chicken which had been stolen the previous night. I was only a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, but I was the only priesthood holder on the farm that very day. I asked that we all join hands together and pray to God to reveal to us what action to take. I got the answers immediately and asked Sister Ojukwu to inform the police. When the detectives arrived, the farm security guard was arrested and confessed that the farm supervisor transferred and sold the birds to a small neighboring farmer.

Over 90 percent of the birds were recovered. The activities at the farm that day lasted until nightfall. Sister Ojukwu pleaded that I spend the night with her family. Very early on Christmas morning, I returned to the missionary apartment at Oshodi with crates of eggs as a gift from Sister Ojukwu.

My great-grandfather was a Pawnee Indian born in the mid-1800s in present-day Nebraska, USA. He was the first to carry the name Echo Hawk. Among the Pawnee, the hawk is a symbol of bravery. As the elders of the tribe watched my great-grandfather, they saw many deeds of bravery. They also noticed that he was quiet and reserved and did not speak about the courageous things he had done. The elders also heard about his brave deeds from others.

“It is like an echo,” they said. “We will call him Echo Hawk because he is like the hawk whose deeds are echoed.”

I am proud of my name and of my heritage. Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me. I was eager to continue reading.

I never missed a day. As I read, I marked in red all the great truths everyone needs to know. Then I marked in yellow the promises the prophets made to the descendants of the Lamanites. As I did so, their words seemed to fly off the page!

After reading the last page, I got on my knees and asked Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was true, if Joseph Smith was a prophet, and if the Church had a living prophet. As I prayed, I felt the Spirit powerfully witness to me the truth of these things.

“Because of my heritage, I felt that the Book of Mormon had special messages for me.”

As soon as I was assigned to Gaeta, I sought out my relatives. When I showed my father’s older brother the portrait, he wept. He hadn’t seen his brother for years and had no pictures of him.
I taught my uncle that one day he would see his brother again—not in a portrait but in person. I taught him that through the gospel, he could live with his brother again in love and peace with the Savior.
I saw great miracles in Gaeta as I shared with family members the good news that because Jesus Christ overcame death, loss of loved ones is only temporary (see Mosiah 16:8). I testify that through His atoning sacrifice, the Savior has made it possible for our families to be gathered eternally.

Nancy climbed up on the hard wagon seat, Papa clucked their aging chestnut mare into motion, and the trip to Gettysburg began. Carefully, Nancy placed the brown parcel on the seat between them, then smoothed the coarse paper with loving strokes. As her fingers touched the package and she thought of its contents, Nancy allowed herself to believe that at last the trip was a reality. She sighed deeply. No, she wasn’t dreaming, but was actually going to Gettysburg to see the president.
Two weeks ago, Papa rode home from the village with news that President Lincoln would come to dedicate the new cemetery on the battlefield where so many soldiers died last July. Nancy’s thirteen-year-old heart pounded in anticipation, and immediately she asked her father if he would take her there.
“It’s twelve miles to Gettysburg,” Papa said. “Take a whole day to go, hear the speeches, and come back, providing nobody talks too long. Don’t know if I can spare the time. But I do need supplies.” When Nancy saw the hard lines of his face soften and the glow that warmed his dark eyes, she knew they would go to Gettysburg.
Nancy had held a dream in her heart for months, turning it first this way in her mind then that, until it sparkled like a newly minted coin. She wanted to make a contribution to the war whose furious sounds had come so close to them last summer. She wasn’t a boy so she couldn’t volunteer as a soldier, but surely she could do something worthwhile. Then she remembered people telling about how President Lincoln worked alone through the night in the cold and drafty White House with only an old threadbare shawl draped over his shoulders for warmth.
It was then her idea took birth and her dream spun a web of hope. As she hoed among the vegetables and fed the clucking brown hens, she pictured herself dressed in a pale gown covered with pink rosebuds, knocking on the White House door and asking to see Mr. Lincoln. When he appeared, she presented him with the most beautiful woolen shawl in the world, one that she had knitted herself. Then the president would no longer look sad and lonely, and he would be warm when he worked through the night. It was a good dream and sometimes, as she stared at the darkened ceiling of her bedroom, she held it close to her, willing it to come true.
Now, bouncing along in the wagon, Nancy remembered how carefully she’d knitted during every free moment to finish the blue shawl so that she’d be prepared to give it to the president at the right moment. And soon now that moment would be here. It was the most important one of her life and she could hardly wait.
Why can’t we go faster? she wondered. She sighed deeply and tried to stop squirming on the wooden seat.
“Patience, Nancy, patience,” her father cautioned.
“Yes, Papa.”
“Look around you. Enjoy the day!”
“I’ll try,” Nancy said with a smile.
Early morning mist swirled in soiled, gray patches along the roadbed covered over with an umbrella of tangled oak and hickory, but the sun warmed clear patches of meadow just beyond, casting an occasional golden shaft of light in their path through the trees.
Could that be a hint of good things waiting to happen? She wondered if Papa’s almanac that told of weather signs and good crop-planting days had anything to say about this day. Grownups often looked for signs in nature to tell them about the future. Now that she was nearly grown up, with vague changes taking place in her body that sometimes mystified her, it was time to take on grown-up ways. Surely this gift she’d made for the president showed that she was growing up and making a contribution to the war. She wished she knew what it felt like to think grown-up thoughts. Then, maybe she’d know for sure.
Hoofbeats slowed to a trot behind them, then came alongside. Nancy turned to see their neighbor, Mr. Brooks, in his fading federal blues. He’d been an officer at Bull Run, his empty left sleeve a silent testimony of his contribution to the war.
“Howdy, Mr. Montgomery. Morning Nancy,” he greeted them. His black moustache curved upward into a bushy smile.
“Mr. Brooks,” Papa said, “You’re alone, then?”
“The child has a fever again so Martha’s home, but this is one trip I had to make.”
“You and Nancy.” Papa turned and smiled at her. “She has some mysterious reason to see the president. Wants to give him something.”
“Well, now, fancy that,” Mr. Brooks said. “I hope she’s going to give him the name of a general who knows how to fight a war and win. That he could surely use.”
“True,” Papa agreed, “although General Grant did himself proud at Vicksburg. Maybe he’ll finally be the one to bring an end to it all.”
Mr. Brooks nodded in agreement and then said, “I’ll be off now. We’ve a rare treat in store for us today and I don’t want to miss a word of Senator Everett’s speech.” He touched his horse’s flanks lightly and disappeared down the road. Nancy yearned for a horse with the speed of Mr. Brooks’ animal.
“Who’s Senator Everett?” she asked.
“He’s a fine speaker, Nancy, and he’s also been a governor and president of Harvard University.”
“All that?” she asked.
“And more,” Papa replied. “You’ll never forget what he says today. Mark my word.”
“But President Lincoln will be there, won’t he?” Nancy was suddenly anxious. “You said so.”
“Oh, yes, he’ll be there,” Papa assured her. “But I don’t know why. After Senator Everett gets through talking, there won’t be much left to say.”
They rode in silence for a few moments, then Nancy asked, “Papa?”
“Yes, Nancy?”
“Do you think I’ll really get to talk to President Lincoln? Can I really get that close?”
“Lots of people have,” Papa said. “They come to see him at the White House and he visits with soldiers in the field. He’ll talk to you too.”
Reassured, Nancy smoothed her dark green skirt, touched her blonde hair, and found that it was curling around her face again in spite of everything she’d done to make it stay back. Oh, well, she thought and leaned forward, eager for her first glimpse of Gettysburg.
Hours later, it seemed, Nancy began to wonder if they’d taken a wrong turn in the road when finally, on the horizon, the town popped into view. She shaded her eyes against the hazy sun and stood up to ease the tension that had held her taut as clean wash hanging outside on a winter’s day.
“The town looks deserted,” Papa said. “I hope we’re not too late.”
“Oh, Papa, hurry,” Nancy pleaded. “We can’t be too late after so many weeks of waiting and dreaming. It wouldn’t be fair.”
They entered town from the north on Harrisburg Road, clippety-clopping through empty streets, past silent wooden houses and churches and deserted brick stores and shops. A solitary figure stood at an intersection ahead.
“You missed the procession,” the hoop-skirted lady called to them.
Papa slowed the wagon. “Where’s the dedication ceremony being held?”
“Straight south,” she answered, “on Cemetery Ridge.”
Nancy dug her fingers into her skirt and twisted the material into a ball. “Can’t you make Dora go any faster?” she urged. She sat forward on the edge of the seat and held onto the rough sideboard of the wagon for support. Now she could see carriages and horses tied to scrub brush along the sides of the road.
Papa halted the mare, jumped down, and tied her fast. “Looks like we’ll have to walk the rest of the way, Nancy,” he said.
Nancy took her parcel and hopped down and started running toward the crowd. “I’ll meet you back here afterwards, Papa,” she called.
She heard Papa shouting to her, but she didn’t stop. No time for anything now but getting there. Hurriedly, Nancy picked her way over wagon ruts and past rail fences, still on the ground where they’d been toppled by advancing confederate troops last July. Out of breath after her hasty climb up the low ridge, Nancy leaned against a tree for support. As her hand touched something cold and metallic, she looked to see what it was. Slowly recognition came and, with it, a tingling revulsion that bunched her stomach into a knot. She jumped back and wiped her hands on her skirt. She’d been touching a bullet, a real bullet, partially imbedded into the tree! Did that bullet kill someone before the tree stopped it? she wondered and shuddered involuntarily. Shaken, she hurried on.
(To be concluded next month.)

It was 40 years ago this conference time when President David O. McKay called me to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. At the first meeting of the Presidency and Twelve which I attended where the sacrament was served, President McKay announced, “Before we partake of the sacrament, I would like to ask our newest member of this body, Brother Monson, if he would instruct the First Presidency and Twelve on the atoning sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” It was then that I gained a true understanding of the old adage: “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.” It was also the time to remember the counsel found in 1 Peter: “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”

The memory of that particular experience with the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve has not dimmed in the intervening 40 years.

David Eves discovered firsthand how quickly life can change when, on September 20, 1997, he and his friends went four-wheeling at Kolob Canyon in southern Utah.
“We’d been driving all day when we hit a bump and lost control,” says David. “I remember flying through the air, then waking up in excruciating pain. When I saw my friends looking down at me and told them I couldn’t feel my legs, I knew I would never be the same.”
After being life-flighted to LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City and undergoing eight hours of surgery to stop internal bleeding and to secure two titanium rods in his back, David spent the next three months fighting for his life.
An avid football, basketball, and track star, David, of the LaVerkin Second Ward, LaVerkin Utah Stake, was no stranger to pain, but soon he was faced with a new challenge: he couldn’t hold his food down or speak. His body weight dropped from 170 to 100 pounds over a two-month period.
The days and nights grew longer. “I wanted to get off the morphine, but the pain was unbearable,” David recalls. “I asked my dad to read to me from the Book of Mormon, and as he did a miracle happened. The spirit of that book brought so much peace, I was able to rest.”
But David was not improving. Jill Eves became alarmed at her son’s severe weight loss and, pleading with the Lord for inspiration, knew a specialist must be called immediately. Sure enough, the doctor discovered and repaired a hole in David’s esophagus, and David came home two weeks later.
His father, Raymond, had taught him two important secrets to obtaining goals: give it your all and never quit. David was used to giving his all, so it was no surprise when he was back at school the following Monday.
“Looking like an alien with my body cast and neck brace, I could see how different I was. I had absolute faith I would get better, but soon realized I was completely unlike the other 800 kids in my school. After that first hard week, though, I knew I could do anything I wanted; I just had to find a different way.”
When his brother suggested he run for student body president a few months later, David again gave it his all. “Vote for someone with skills and wheels!” posters lined the school halls, and soon David went from jock to school leader. “That year was awesome,” he says. “I felt it was the perfect preparation for my mission.”
Nothing made David’s therapy more important than his determination to serve a mission. Although some of his friends said serving a mission wasn’t necessary, since he was in a wheelchair, David didn’t buy it. “I knew the Lord wanted me to serve, so I decided I would do everything in my power to make that possible.”
Before long, he could shower and dress himself, drive his car, and negotiate his way anywhere. In fact, after his doctor said it was impossible, David learned to strap on a brace he calls his exoskeleton and walk, using crutches extending from his hands, by moving his shoulders to push his body forward. With no sense of balance or ability to feel the ground under him, this is an incredible feat—one for which the students and parents honored him with a standing ovation at high school graduation exercises.
After graduation David couldn’t wait to turn 19 and send in his mission papers. His doctor attached a note verifying he was totally independent.
But it was not to be. Instead of a calling, David’s letter informed him he could not serve a full-time proselyting mission.
“When I heard this, I was crushed,” remembers David. “I had worked so hard, and it seemed it was all taken away from me in just a matter of seconds.” Even though David had given it his best, he felt strongly he must continue to pursue a mission. An interview was arranged with Elder David B. Haight of the Quorum of the Twelve, who lovingly assured David there was a mission for him.
One week later he was called to serve a welfare mission at the Deseret Industries (D.I.) in St. George. Nothing had prepared him for such a call. “To tell the truth, I was disappointed.” But he kept hearing these words to the song, “I will go, I will do,” run through his head and knew the Lord wanted him there.
“I look back now and think how foolish I was. I had no clue what a blessing this mission would be,” David says.
Not only has David been blessed, but his sense of humor and positive attitude touched each of the 250-plus people whose lives have been uplifted and changed through D.I.’s self-sufficiency and missionary programs. “Whenever we were having a bad day, we’d just come and find Elder Eves,” says Debbie Kelly, a trainee. “When we saw how happy and positive he was, even in a wheelchair, we’d ask, ‘What are we complaining about?’”
While serving his mission, Elder Eves spent mornings tutoring trainees working on their high school and G.E.D. certificates. “He helped me so much,” says Brandy, a single mom working to learn the skills necessary for upgraded employment. “I couldn’t have passed my math section without him.”
But to David, tutoring wasn’t just about teaching educational skills. He loved his students. “They don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care,” he says. The relationships he developed with his students reached higher levels, like teaching the six missionary discussions to Rita Roberts, another trainee.
“He helped me understand the gospel step by step, because I’m a slow learner,” Rita says. “And I knew I could count on him for anything. He and his family helped me move twice. You couldn’t get a better person—not just in the classroom, but everywhere. He’s cool and unique.”
Besides tutoring staff members, David was responsible for many devotionals at the D.I.
“One day it was Elder Eves’s turn to give the devotional. Everyone was there but him. In a few minutes, in he came, walking with his braces. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as he talked to us about overcoming adversity and working with your hand in God’s to accomplish any goal,” says Sister Scott, a welfare missionary at D.I.
While David loved serving at D.I., his missionary efforts didn’t stop there. In the evenings, he went team teaching with the full-time missionaries, resulting in several baptisms, one where he was asked to perform the baptism.
“I figured if she had enough faith to ask me to baptize her, I had enough faith to find a way to do it,” remembers Elder Eves. And so on January 1, 2000, being strapped in his shower chair, Elder Eves said the baptismal prayer and lowered Robin Rasmussen into the water. No one will ever forget the spirit present that day.
David brings a feeling of hope and peace everywhere he goes. But it’s his great sense of humor that endears him to everyone he meets. “I learned early on that if others see me joking about being paralyzed, they are more comfortable around me. When they realize I’m happy because of the gospel and my many blessings, the whole wheelchair thing disappears and they see me as a person.”
And counting blessings is what Elder Eves concentrates on. “The one thing my mission taught me more than anything else is how blessed I am. When I saw the problems some of these people at work deal with, my heart went out to them and I wondered if I could do what they do. I have a family who loves me, I have the gospel, and I have had the opportunity to serve the Lord on a mission. I couldn’t ask for more,” he says.
David is currently attending Dixie State College on a full scholarship and exercising on his bike and braces. “I work out in those leg braces every day to keep my legs stretched, so that when I do walk again I’ll be ready,” he says, with the same fervor with which he bears his testimony.
“I love the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8: ‘My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high.’ I know Joseph Smith was the prophet of the Restoration and that Jesus Christ is our Savior and loves each of us. Sometimes when we’re going through hard times, it seems like we’re alone, but we’re really not. He’s right there with us. And with this knowledge, everything else falls into place.”

Darrell graduated in 1997 and attended Brigham Young University in Utah, USA to complete his master’s degree. From there, he moved to New York City to study at the Manhattan School of Music, for his third degree in the subject he had once failed while still a struggling schoolboy.

Whilst in New York he met and married Jennifer Welch, a renowned opera singer in her own right. In 2005 Darrell, Jenny and their two little sons moved back to Utah where they were both asked to teach at BYU. Darrell was eventually offered a full-time position, and Jenny decided to be a full-time mother.

As a professor of music for 14 years, Darrell was hugely successful, with his students winning major international opera competitions. One of his students, Rachel Willis-Sørensen, was invited to sing at Prince Charles’ 70th birthday party at Buckingham Palace, who has since gone on to be a highly successful recording artist.

In 2019, Darrell was approached by the world-renowned Juilliard School and offered a full-time faculty position. Darrell, Jenny and now five children moved back to New York.

In 2021 it was announced that Darrell would be chair of the music faculty at the Juilliard School. It can be no surprise to learn that his students have also won many competitions and have appeared on The Voice and America’s Got Talent. One student has also been nominated for a Grammy award.

Carter snarled and growled in the backseat of the car. He could see his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked just like a Tyrannosaurus rex! Carter held up two fingers like claws and turned to his brothers.
“Are you excited to see the dinosaurs?” he growled.
McKay and Stockton raised their fingers like claws and roared, “Yes!”
Carter’s family was going to the museum to see the new T. rex fossil on display. Carter and his brothers were excited to see the skeleton of a real dinosaur. Carter was especially excited because he wanted to get a dinosaur T-shirt from the museum gift shop.
When the family arrived at the museum, Carter, McKay, and Stockton looked at everything, sometimes twice. They pushed buttons that roared different dinosaur roars. They stacked wooden dinosaur eggs into dinosaur nests. But best of all was the T. rex fossil.
The skeleton was huge! The dinosaur’s clawed toes were bigger than Carter’s whole head. Carter couldn’t decide between smiling because he was so happy or snarling like a dinosaur.
On the way out of the museum, Dad took Carter into the gift shop. “I can tell you liked seeing that dinosaur,” he said. “Pick out a T-shirt to share with your brothers to remember the fun we had together today.”
Carter looked through all the shirts carefully. He chose a black one with a T. rex skull baring its teeth, just like the one in the museum.
In the car, Carter was so excited that he put the T-shirt on over his regular shirt right away.
“You picked the best one!” McKay said.
“It’s for all of us to share,” Carter said. He leaned back so McKay could see the T. rex’s teeth better. “But I really want to wear it tomorrow so I can show my friends at school.”
“Sure you can,” McKay said. “I know how much you wanted a T. rex shirt.”
Carter settled back in his seat and thought about all the things he could tell his friends about the museum. He thought about how much he and his brothers had liked the dinosaur. Then he thought that McKay would probably want to wear the shirt to school too so he could tell his friends about the great day they had.
Carter decided he would love to see McKay happy, so as soon as they got home he took off the shirt and handed it to McKay. “You wear it to school tomorrow, McKay!” he said.
“Really?” McKay asked.
“I know you like T. rex too. I can wear it the next day.”
“Wow, thanks!” McKay hugged Carter and bounded out of the room to try on the shirt.
Carter felt warm and happy knowing he had made McKay so happy.
“I was happy at the museum, and I was happy wearing the T. rex T-shirt,” Carter thought. “But now I’m the happiest of all!”

I have always had a great love for music, as most of you do today. Yes, our music was different, but it was just as enjoyable to us as yours is to you today. I played the piano in a small dance band. We played for dances around town and quite often my date would accompany me as my friends and I played. She would sit at the side of the piano and listen to the music and smile at me as I played and tried to earn a few dollars to help with high school and college. We’d have good visits at intermission, and I’d take her home after such a date where often the only pleasure she’d had was sitting, listening to dance music, and tapping her foot to the beat of the drum. When I was 17 I was the ward organist, and many times I would take my date to the church so that I could practice the organ, and she would sit and listen. This may well have been because I didn’t have any money, much more than because of her deep love for music, but we started a relationship in doing that and we found that we both liked music. I played the hymns and they brought a lovely spirit to our times together in a chapel as hymns were played with intermittent talk, perhaps followed by a five-cent ice cream cone when I took her home. Now, any one of you reading this might think these were strange kinds of dates, but the important thing in any generation is to find uplifting things you can enjoy together and do them! There’s nothing more boring—and potentially dangerous—than a date that starts out, “Well, what do you want to do?” Be creative, be enthusiastic, and prepare by thinking about the kinds of things that will help you get to know each other better. Decide well in advance where you are going, what you will do, and what time you will be home.

Young men and women should continually prepare for conversation—an important part of any date. Each young man or woman reading this might well ask, “What subjects am I prepared to talk about?” Talking and listening attentively add depth to dating.

Are you interesting? Are you aware of what is going on in the world? Can you discuss several subjects intelligently? Are you a good listener? Do you talk too much? Not enough?

It seems to me that quality young people are searching for other young people of high caliber who dress and act modestly, understand conversation, have high standards of behavior, and are refined yet “down to earth.”

On many occasions our children have had dinners on a tennis court. It was interesting to watch them plan who would attend, where the food would come from, and what type of date would want to spread a checkered cloth on a piece of cement and have a picnic on a tennis court. On another occasion this same group had dinner inside a playhouse and acted like they were on the roof garden of an elegant hotel. It was interesting to watch them plan and grow and develop as they made assignments and had a truly wonderful time without it costing very much.

Dates can be fun and wholesome without spending a lot of money. Young men and young women alike should be cautious about overspending and taxing resources unnecessarily on frills that are not necessary to have a good time.

Young men should treat their dates with respect and honor in every sense and on every occasion. Good manners and actions appropriate to age and culture are just as important today as they were ten, twenty, thirty, or fifty years ago. Young women, too, should behave accordingly and be concerned about manner of dress, speech, and actions while on a date.

How pleasant it was to have a young man take one of my daughters on a date and tell me as they left where they were going and what time I could expect them home. This type of young man is going to impress many fathers and mothers and, of course, will impress the daughters, who are most important.

It is wise to date in groups. There is safety in numbers. Doctrine and Covenants 6:12 tells us, “Trifle not with sacred things.” [D&C 6:12] What is more sacred than virtue?

My wife and I recently attended a high school reunion. How grateful I was for the dates I had in high school! Meeting these good friends many years later, I was very grateful I had no sad memories of dates that were not what they should have been.

Always conduct each date so that you can meet the person many years later and have no regrets about what took place. Don’t ever trade a lifetime of happy gospel living for a brief moment of promiscuous pleasure.

Dating can be a wonderful stage of life with many rewards. Plan well, enjoy your date, and use the time to meet and make many wonderful friends. Let those friendships lead you to a lifetime of happiness that can and will be yours as you work toward the blessings of the temple and as you seek to find the one who can join you for a temple marriage and an eternal family unit based on living the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Not only does this service bless the homes from which missionaries come, it blesses lives where missionaries go. One young lady who worked among the Indian people wrote: “The Navajo are a great people. Words can’t express my love for them. …
“The Navajo people accepted me, a white girl, as one of their own. They called me their white daughter. I had a hard time with the language, but I could teach by reading the lessons. I was very fortunate to have Navajo companions who could explain in detail. We could communicate with love. I learned that love is the greatest language to know. This people loved me and I loved them. We spoke with smiles, laughter, and sometimes tears. They were patient with my broken Navajo and helped me when I couldn’t think of a word. I left with a testimony in my heart and a feeling that cannot be described in words. …”
She concludes with, “In December I met a returned missionary. We fell in love and have been married in the temple.”

“We also used to go to Huntsville, Utah, every summer; that’s where my mother grew up. Mother was President David O. McKay’s sister. I can’t remember President McKay when he didn’t have white hair. He was a great man, loving and kind and never saying an unkind word about anyone.
“I was so impressed with Huntsville that when I was nearing eight years of age, I decided that I wanted to be baptized in Spring Creek, which runs just a half block north of the old McKay home. It was late November, and the weather was very cold. There was ice along the edge of the creek when we stepped across it into the old swimming hole where Mother and President McKay had both been baptized.
“My mother was a very spiritual person. She taught us well the importance of living to be worthy to receive the impressions of the Spirit and to follow them.
“When I was older, I had a remarkable spiritual experience. I had taken my family to Burley, Idaho, to see my wife’s family. Coming back, we had a flat tire on a very sharp curve. I stopped the car on the curve because I didn’t want to ruin the tire. As I pulled off the two-lane highway and started to jack the car up, I had the strongest impression to move the car ahead. I ignored the feeling and continued to jack the car up. Luckily the car slipped off the jack. I again had an impression to move the car ahead. I said, ‘OK,’ and I pulled it ahead about twenty yards from where it had been to the straight-away. I had the wheel off and was about ready to put the spare tire on, when I saw two cars speeding west, one car passing the other. Then I saw another car coming from the opposite direction. The three cars passed each other on the curve exactly where our car had been. I don’t know how many of us would have been killed if we had not moved. From then on I’ve tried to follow my impressions the first time—I don’t wait for a second time. When you follow your impressions, you don’t always know what would have happened if you hadn’t done so, but it pays to heed them.
“It’s important for us to learn that serving others is the only way to gain real happiness. My father taught me something that has always impressed me: There’s no limit to the amount of good that you can do if you don’t care who gets the credit. If we can keep this in mind and serve the best that we can, whatever our assignment is, and try to be thoughtful of others, our happiness will multiply. Happiness doesn’t come to us by just seeking it. It comes to us as we serve other people. It’s important to understand that and to do things that are beyond the call of duty, to be helpful to our mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and all our friends. By helping them in ways that will bring them happiness, our own happiness will be increased.”

Some people might think that a 50-mile hike is a challenge meant only for Boy Scouts—but not the girls and leaders from the Priest River Ward in the Sandpoint Idaho Stake. They recently challenged themselves to hike through snow and hail in Montana’s Lee Medcalf Wilderness.
The trip included a few surprises—like a bear eating some of their food out of a tree—but all the girls report that they wouldn’t trade their hike for anything. Eight days in the high country might be enough to last some people a lifetime, but these girls are already planning their next trip.

For the past year I thought there were too many rules in the Church, and I thought, “How can it be fun in heaven?” I felt like I was tied to the Church and it was impossible to break free.
I then watched my friends’ lives. Why didn’t I go through some of the trials they did? One night it hit me—I didn’t get into that stuff because I followed the rules that Heavenly Father set out for me. I also figured out that if you follow the rules, you can be happy and can raise a family and live with Heavenly Father and Jesus for eternity.
Stephanie H., age 13, Utah, USA

My friend Julyette and I were chatting online when she told me she was looking for a church that had a living prophet who spoke with God face-to-face. I thought God had stopped speaking to men here upon the earth because we have a Bible, and I thought that was sufficient for our salvation.
But she said, “If God no longer called a prophet here upon the earth, He would be a liar, for He promised He would never do anything without calling prophets” (see Amos 3:7).
I asked her, “Where is this living prophet?” She did not know.
I began to reflect about how we could discover the right church. I knew that there were many different Christian churches with different doctrines. I thought, “Well, the Internet has a lot of sources,” so I searched for “the true persecuted church.” I don’t know why I typed it in that way, but several lists of churches appeared, including The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are many Christian churches in Brazil, but I had never heard of this church.
Upon entering the Web site, I read the story of a 14-year-old boy who had seen God and Jesus Christ face-to-face and had translated the Book of Mormon by the power of God. I had never heard anything about Joseph Smith or the Book of Mormon before, and I thought it was interesting. But what caught my attention was that the Book of Mormon told of Jesus Christ appearing to the ancient inhabitants of the American continent.
I had a great desire to read this book, so I requested a copy. I told Julyette about the site, and after she read the story of Joseph Smith, she was certain this church was the Church of Jesus Christ. She said I had been prepared by the Lord to find the Church for her.
I was impressed with her conviction and wanted to know for myself. I asked my mother if she knew about the Book of Mormon. She told me my sister had a blue book from two missionaries. I borrowed the book and read it from cover to cover in one week; I wasn’t interested in anything else. What a feeling of peace I had! I remembered a promise that everyone who read the book should ask God if it were true, and He would respond (see Moroni 10:3–4).
Early in the morning I went to my room to offer a prayer. I placed my trust in God and asked Him if the book was true, and I felt a burning inside. I did not know what the feeling was, but I felt joy. That night I had a dream in which a Book of Mormon prophet appeared. I asked him if the book was true, and he said it was. When I woke up I thought, “The Book of Mormon really is true.”
I asked around until I found someone who knew the directions to the church. One Friday I rode my bicycle to the chapel, but no one was there. I prayed for help to know when meetings were held. I went again the following week. When I arrived, an elderly lady told me that Church meetings were on Sunday mornings. I returned home happy and excited with my heart beating rapidly.
When I arrived on Sunday morning, I was well received by the members. I was impressed with the organization of the Church. I felt peace and joy in my heart during the meetings, and I asked the missionaries to come to my house to teach me. I returned home and told my mother that I had found the right religion.
The missionaries taught me about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I already knew the story of Joseph Smith, so when they invited me to pray to learn the truth, I told them I had already received an answer and told them about my experience. They were impressed with my testimony and suggested a date, May 15, 2004, for my baptism. In the meantime, my friend Julyette was also baptized. My baptism was the greatest joy of my life, and my friend and I are very happy we found the true Church of Jesus Christ.

Occasionally bad weather would interrupt those outdoor services, and both the speakers and congregation were uncomfortable. President Joseph F. Smith, who remembered well the discomfort of those outdoor meetings held near the temple in Nauvoo, said:
“My first recollection of a place of worship was in Nauvoo. It was in a little grove of trees near the site of the temple. In company with my mother I listened here to such men as Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Orson Hyde, Parley P. Pratt, Orson Pratt, the Prophet Joseph and the Patriarch Hyrum. I remember quite well attending one meeting in this grove, that a wagon had been drawn up in front of the audience and the Prophet Joseph stood in the box speaking, when it began to rain. Some one or two persons got up and held umbrellas over him, to shield him from the wet. Many of the people had no umbrellas, and it was very annoying and disagreeable to sit there, but I remember very well, though but a little boy, that there was no one went away from the ground while he spoke.”

In later years I worked as an engineer installing robotic systems for many companies. There was one project I worked on for a long time. Some of the people I worked with didn’t always use good language, but they were my customers, and I had to work with them. I tried, in little ways, to improve their language.
I went back to that company years later, and while the manager was giving me a tour, someone came up to him and spouted a long sentence of expletives about a problem they were having. The manager didn’t respond to the question being asked but introduced me and said, “Now, he doesn’t stand for that kind of language, and we will not use that when he’s here.” I had no idea of the influence I had had all those years earlier. I didn’t need to defend my standards; the manager stood up for me.

Betsy King Duzette waded into the frigid water of the Mississippi River. The 58-year-old widow and convert from Connecticut was then baptized for her uncles, mother-in-law, and her husband’s stepfather.
The Prophet Joseph Smith had recently taught the Saints, in August 1840, about the doctrine of baptism for the dead. In their excitement, they performed baptisms in the river, since the Nauvoo Temple was not completed. Women were baptized for men and men for women. Soon, however, the Lord revealed to Joseph Smith that baptisms for deceased ancestors must be done in dedicated temples (see Doctrine and Covenants 124:28–35). And in 1845, Brigham Young announced that women should be baptized for women and men for men.
Betsy’s husband, Philemon Duzette, had died six years earlier. She braved the chilly waters to be baptized for his deceased relatives as well as her own. That included baptism for Philemon’s stepfather, Jesse Peas, who died 50 years earlier when Betsy was a young girl. She may never have met him but likely knew of him and knew his name and his relationship to Philemon and his mother, Martha Wing. Betsy had known Martha when she was alive.
Betsy was baptized as proxy for Jesse almost immediately following the revelations on baptism for the dead. And she and her husband named one of their children after Jesse. Philemon’s biological father, also named Philemon, died when he was an infant, and Jesse Peas became his stepfather when Philemon was three and helped Martha raise him.
Just as Betsy King Duzette believed and trusted when she waded into the Mississippi River on behalf of her stepfather-in-law, we, all of us, can be connected, sealed, bound, and welded together eternally.

I don’t think I will ever forget that Christmas. I suspected it would be the last Christmas I would spend in my parents’ home. We all knew that soon after Christmas I would leave on my mission. Then would come marriage, and Christmases from then on would be spent with my own little family.
Oh, I knew there would be years when I would spend Christmas Day with my family, but never again would I be there for the “season”—the days of baking, the nights spent caroling, the hanging of the stockings, and the other activities that filled the weeks before Christmas. I was growing up. I was leaving home, and the thought scared me.
I had anticipated that last Christmas for months, and the week before Christmas was wonderful. I savored every minute of making gingerbread houses, acting out the Nativity, decorating our tree, and all the secrets and surprises that seemed to invade every corner of our warm house. Yet, despite the happy feelings, I kept remembering that this would be the last year things would be the same.
My family had many holiday traditions. One that we children looked forward to the most took place on Christmas Eve. Starting with the youngest, Papa would take each child downstairs to the living room. Then, holding him or her in the old rocking chair, Papa would sing us a special Christmas song. It was the same song every year, and we all knew it by heart. The song talked about angels and dancing toys on Christmas morning. Sitting there in Papa’s arms with the Christmas tree lights shining in the dark room, you couldn’t help but feel secure. Somehow you knew tomorrow would reveal all the joys that Christmas morning could bring. No matter how old or how big we grew. Papa always rocked us on Christmas Eve.
As I lay in my bed that night, I watched each of my older sisters and brothers in turn be taken down the stairs. I was the oldest child at home that year, since my sister had left on her mission. Below me in the living room, I heard the song over and over as each child was sung to. Then it was my turn. I followed Papa down the stairs into the living room. He sat in the big chair and opened his arms.
“Do you still want me to sit on your lap?” I asked.
“Of course,” he smiled. Gratefully, I climbed onto his lap and pulled my knees up to my chin, snuggling up next to him.
“This is my last night to be rocked,” I said.
“I know,” came his quiet reply.
As the first few strains of the familiar tune began, I thought back to all the years I had heard this song on Christmas Eve. Suddenly something in me wanted to stay. I was so warm and comfortable, and I had no idea what the future months and years would hold. I started to cry.
Don’t let this song end, I thought.
Papa began to sing.
Heaven bless you, little one, while you’re fast asleep.
You’ll awake to dancing toys,
Candy canes, Christmas joys.
And I pray your whole life through,
Angels will watch over you,
Loving you the way I do,
My little one, sleep well.
Every year before, the song had made me think of what the next morning would bring. But this last time, I knew Papa was singing about life and the years ahead—not toys that would break or wear out, but eternal joys I would find on my journey through life, joys I was not even aware of now. On this night I heard the emotion of his voice as he sang for angels to watch over me, not just for tonight but for all the nights that would follow when he wouldn’t be there.
I let my tears flow, as the last strains of music faded away. Papa and I watched the lights of the tree in the darkness, and we rocked and rocked, long after the song had ended.
I found comfort as I thought of my Heavenly Father that night, while my earthly father rocked me. Even though Papa couldn’t be there every day in the future to help me with each struggle, my Father in Heaven would be there. No matter what the years ahead would bring, I would have the support not only of an earthly father, but of my Heavenly Father as well. And he would guide my paths and bring me home for good.
That night I felt he, too, was singing, “Loving you the way I do, my little one, sleep well.”

Yamikani Ntakwile was introduced to the Church by her brother after their mother died in 1997. Her brother, George Ntakwile Shongwe, had joined the Church and was living in South Africa. He returned to Malawi for the funeral, bringing with him a copy of the Book of Mormon and other Church literature. He also shared the doctrine of the plan of salvation with the family, helping them understand that their family could be together eternally.
Yamikani stopped attending her childhood church and waited for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to come to Malawi. Each night she would read from the Book of Mormon—the one her brother had given her. She said, “Even though I did not understand much of what was written because of poor English abilities, I continued each night to read the book. It was always under my pillow. I had hope that the true Church would come to Malawi someday”.
In 2000, Church leaders officially opened Malawi and missionaries began to work in the city of Blantyre. Yamikani was among the first to be baptized there. She was so committed to the teachings of the restored gospel that a year later, she was sealed to her parents in the South Africa Johannesburg Temple, and in 2002 she was called to serve as a full-time missionary in the Johannesburg, South Africa Mission—becoming the first sister missionary to be called from Malawi.