Gospel Story Finder

My friend and I were playing at the park. I climbed a tree, but my friend couldn’t climb up. When I tried to get down, I couldn’t, and it was too far to jump. My friend said that we should say a prayer so that someone would come help us. First I prayed, and then my friend prayed. A few minutes later my dad showed up at the park and helped me down from the tree. I told my mom and dad what happened, and each of them told me that they had a feeling they should check on me to see if I was OK. I know that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Nicholas M., age 7, Utah

Jeff Daniels pushed open the car door. The clean, cool night air poured in and drenched him with freshness. He paused for a moment and then stepped out onto the curb in front of his home and breathed deeply. Even outside the car, the faint odor of alcohol lingered.
Nathan Brinser, who was driving, leaned over and looked out the open door at him. “Hey, Daniels, why don’t you loosen up a bit?” he invited good-naturedly.
A troubling emptiness rested in the pit of Jeff’s stomach, but he managed to shrug indifferently and grin.
Jeff found himself grinning more and more these days. Not out of any sense of amusement. It was quite simply his best answer to so many things now. If his beliefs or good behavior were challenged or ridiculed, he could always answer with an uncommitted shrug and grin.
“One lousy beer isn’t going to kill you,” Nathan laughed.
Jeff stared down at his friend. Two years earlier neither one of them would have suspected this kind of conversation would be going on between them. He and Nathan had been friends since kindergarten, and over the years they had been inseparable. But now Jeff felt like a stranger around Nathan.
“You going to KC’s party tomorrow night?” Nathan asked. “His folks are going to be out of town all weekend. I think half the senior class will be there.”
Jeff contemplated an excuse.
“And don’t tell me you’ve got to study,” Nathan cut into his thoughts.
Jeff grinned again. He didn’t like to go to the parties. He had been to a few but he’d never been comfortable, always having to explain why he didn’t join in. He was tired of making up excuses or dumping the blame on his parents. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess I’ll go,” he said, unable to think of anything else.
“Don’t sound so excited,” Nathan grumbled. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.” Nathan was quiet for a moment and then spoke without facing Jeff. “You know, some of the guys were talking. I can’t blame them. Whenever you go with us, you’re all depressed. Everyone else is having a good time and you’re just sitting there looking down.”
“Hey, I said I want to go,” said Jeff, falling back on his grin.
A few minutes later Nathan’s taillights faded into the blackness, and Jeff started up the walk to the door. After having spent most of the evening in the car, sitting through a drive-in movie, it felt good to be out in the open where everything he breathed was clean and fresh.
He thought about the two six-packs KC had managed to get. Jeff had declined as the cans were passed out, and the others didn’t seem to mind. It meant more for them. But before the night was over Jeff could sense the annoyance his abstinence caused.
KC had been especially irritated. “Come on, you can still go to church on Sunday,” he had said sarcastically.
What would it hurt just once? Jeff thought as he walked up to the house. Some of those other guys are members of the Church and they’re all “active.” Why do I have to be the one that stands out?
“Oh, you’re home,” his dad called to him, as he stepped through the front door. “I thought I heard a car pull up. I just got home myself. Thought I’d fix a sandwich. You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Want some juice?”
“Juice sounds good.” Jeff sighed heavily as he walked into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and dropped into it. His father poured him a glass of orange juice and pushed it across the table. Jeff took a couple of sips. “Where’ve you been?” he asked his dad. “It’s past 12.”
Brother Daniels finished chewing a bite of his bologna sandwich and shook his head. “Bishop Taylor asked if I’d go with him to visit a family in the ward.”
“At this time of night?”
“They’ve been having some family problems.” Brother Daniels shook his head and stared at the table. “I kept thinking while we were there, If they just followed the counsel of the Church, they could avoid so much of this.”
“The Church doesn’t fix everything.”
“Oh, members of the Church have problems too. Everybody does. But if you’re doing what the Lord has asked you to do you can work through those problems. There’s never a problem that’s insurmountable,” Brother Daniels said resolutely.
Jeff looked over at his father and wished that he could really believe that, but right then following the teachings of the Church didn’t seem to be the solution to his problem. That seemed to be the cause.
“How was the movie?” his dad asked.
“Oh, it was all right, I guess.”
Brother Daniels stared at his son for a moment. “What’s the matter?”
Jeff shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
Jeff nodded again, stood, finished his juice in a few gulps and turned to go. “What’s wrong, Jeff?” his father asked again.
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
Brother Daniels set down his half-eaten sandwich and brushed some bread crumbs off the table. “I was just wondering,” he said. “You’ve seemed a little troubled lately.” He looked at Jeff, and reached over to push the chair out again so Jeff could sit down. “Sometimes talking helps clear your mind.”
Jeff wasn’t sure he wanted to talk, or of what he would say even if he decided to speak. While he debated, however, he dropped back into his chair. It was hard to begin. He wasn’t sure his father could understand. He wasn’t sure he understood.
“What would you do if I’d been drinking tonight?” he burst out suddenly. “I wasn’t,” he added quickly, “but what would you do if I had been?”
Brother Daniels looked across the table at him, studying his face. “I’d try to help you,” he said slowly. “Can I help you?”
Jeff shook his head. “Probably not. You know, you’re always hearing these stories about some Mormon guy going to a party or something and everybody and his dog is drinking. Everybody except this one Mormon guy. Somebody offers him a drink and he turns them down and later everybody rushes up to him and tells him how much they admire him for standing by his beliefs.”
Jeff looked across the table at his dad. “Do you know how many parties I’ve been to where everybody’s been drinking? Enough of them,” he said bitterly. “And do you know how many times somebody’s come up to me and said, ‘Gee, Daniels, it’s sure great that you don’t let down your standards?’ Not once. They look at me like I’m some kind of freak. Those stories about Mormon guys being so good and having everyone look up to them—they just don’t happen.
“I’m just tired of feeling like a freak,” Jeff grumbled. “I thought if you did everything you were supposed to, you were happy. I don’t feel happy—just weird!”
“Maybe you need some different friends.”
Jeff shook his head. “Nathan Brinser goes to church every Sunday. His dad’s in the elders quorum presidency. KC Wells is active. His dad’s on the high council. Every Sunday they get up and bless the sacrament like nothing ever happened.”
“They’re not fooling everyone, Jeff.”
“But they’ll get away with it. When they turn 19, they’ll march into the bishop’s office, confess everything, and end up going on missions. They’ll repent and everything will be fine. That’s part of the whole plan. It makes me wonder, Well, what’s wrong with that? Why can’t I go out and have fun? I can repent as well as they can.”
Brother Daniels thought for a long time. “There are two things that come to mind. First, once you get involved in anything like that, it’s always hard to turn away from it. Maybe you’d get caught in the snare and never get out of it.”
“They’ll get out of it,” Jeff insisted.
“The second thing. Because of Christ’s love and mercy, he suffered for each of us and made it possible for us to be clean, but his plan was never intended to be used as a plaything.
“Repentance wasn’t provided so that we could go out and sin carelessly, willfully, always with the idea in mind that sometime we’d resort to repentance to clean up our lives. Christ didn’t go through the terrible agony of Gethsemane just so we could all go out and eat, drink and be merry, and then scrub ourselves with repentance like it was a common bar of soap.
“Those who think they can use repentance in that way are making a mockery of the whole atonement.”
“But, Dad, I’m tired of being the different one. Where are the good kids my own age?”
Brother Daniels pondered a moment. “You remember the prophet Elijah, the one who had the contest with the priests of Baal?” Jeff nodded. “Well, Elijah lived in Israel, but at that time wickedness was rampant. The chosen people had turned to idolatry, adultery, and every other degrading act.
“Elijah felt a lot like you. He went to the Lord and said, ‘I’m the only one in Israel that’s remained true.’” Brother Daniels smiled and shook his head. “He was wrong. The Lord told him that there were 7,000 who had not bowed down to Baal, who had kept themselves clean. You’re not alone, Jeff. There are those who feel just as you do. I don’t know if there are 7,000 or 70,000 or whatever, but they’re there.”
All during the next day Jeff debated whether he should go to the party at KC Wells’s place that night. In the midst of his internal debate, he felt prompted to pray. At first he ignored the feeling, but it persisted until he went to his room and dropped to his knees. He began to whip through a prayer, but it was empty. The words were going nowhere. He paused and remained on his knees just thinking.
Suddenly he was bombarded with feelings, fears, and frustrations. He struggled to sort through them, and as he struggled, the prayer came as a humble plea for help. For one of the first times in his life he was talking to the Lord, not just mouthing words or repeating worn-out phrases, but telling the Lord how he felt.
Tears burned under his lashes, and he pleaded for something to help him through. In the middle of his prayer an all-encompassing warmth filled him. For one of the first times in his life he felt the purest kind of love he had ever experienced and knew that someone really cared about what Jeff Daniels was doing, what he was going through.
“Will you be out late?” Brother Daniels asked Jeff as he was leaving for KC’s party.
“I doubt it. I’d decided not to go, but I got to thinking that maybe I should. I don’t know why. I’ll be all right, though,” said Jeff as he headed out the door.
KC’s house was full when Jeff pulled up. Cars lined the street, music was playing, and kids were spilling out into the backyard. It did look like half the senior class was there.
He wandered around to the backyard and found a lawn chair from which he could watch the others come and go, laugh and talk. Everyone was munching chips and sipping drinks. No one seemed to notice him, and he had the impression that his presence made no difference to those who were there. There was a time when that would have bothered him, but right then he didn’t care.
“Hey, I was wondering if you’d show,” Nathan said dropping into the lawn chair next to him. “I should have known that you’d come and hide yourself. You been here long?”
“Ten minutes or so.”
“It’s a little tame,” Nathan said, nodding toward the activity about them. “KC had to be careful. His folks know he’s having a party, and a couple of the neighbors are supposed to wander through to make sure everything’s okay. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t arrange a few surprises.”
The two continued talking until Nathan nudged Jeff with his elbow, “Hey, is that Kristi Case?” He nodded across the yard at a girl in a yellow sweater. Jeff recognized the girl from his English class. She had always been quiet, a little on the shy side. She was not grabbingly beautiful, but she was pretty.
Jeff watched her for a moment. She laughed and talked with the others but seemed nervous. She wasn’t the kind of girl he thought would show up at something like this. He felt sorry for her.
A few minutes later Jeff watched as KC approached Kristi. They talked and as they did Kristi happened to catch Jeff staring at her. For a moment their gazes locked; then she looked away. Jeff turned back to Nathan, feeling guilty for staring.
“Hey, Jeff,” a voice called. KC came toward him, holding Kristi’s arm. “You know Kristi Case, don’t you?”
Jeff nodded, “We have English together.”
“Great!” I thought maybe you could help her have a good time, show her around. Why don’t you get her a drink. Start on the punch in the dining room, and get one for yourself too. Brent Tate can mix one that will wake you up.”
“No thanks,” Jeff said, “I really don’t want a drink.”
“Why not?” KC demanded.
Jeff could feel Nathan’s and Kristi’s eyes on him. Any other time he would have been groping frantically for an excuse, some place to dump the blame. But right then he didn’t want an excuse. And the last thing he wanted to do was grin.
He remembered his conversation with his father the night before. Why had he always insisted on being different? He had never really answered that question for himself before, but right then he wanted the answer. And he wanted the others to hear it too. “I don’t drink,” he said. “You know that, KC.”
His words shocked him as much as anyone, but as soon as they were out, he felt a sense of control he had never known before. The same assuring warmth he had felt while praying seemed to come over him.
“You mean you’re not old enough to have a sip now and then?” KC asked sarcastically.
“I’m just not interested. I guess I never have been,” said Jeff.
KC’s eyes narrowed as though he had been insulted. “If you’re too good for this party why’d you bother to show up?”
Jeff smiled, but there was no apology in the expression. “I don’t know,” he said, and leaving the others standing there he stood up and started around the house.
As he walked through the shadows to his car, he knew he was alone, but there was a feeling of triumph in what he had just done. He wondered why he hadn’t taken that simple stand months earlier.
“Jeff,” a girl called to him. He stopped and looked behind him. It was Kristi. “Are you leaving now?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m leaving.”
“Could I—maybe—catch a ride with you?”
“Sure. Come on.”
For several minutes after Kristi explained where she lived, they rode in silence. Then unexpectedly she asked, “Are you a Mormon?”
No one had ever asked Jeff that before. He had always just assumed his religion was obvious. “Yeah, I’m Mormon,” he said.
“I always thought you were, but …”
“But what?”
“I guess I was just shocked to see you there tonight. I’d never gone to a party like that, and I didn’t know what to expect. But I wasn’t expecting you. You really don’t drink?”
“No, I don’t drink.”
“Have you ever?”
Jeff laughed. “What is this, the Inquisition?”
Kristi smiled, “I’m sorry. I was just curious.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Jeff. He was glad he could say that.
“I’ve seen you around school, and I thought you were—different. But when I saw you at the party—well, I thought you were just like all the others.”
“The others?”
“Oh, lately I’ve wondered if maybe I was the odd one, if there was anybody around that really …” she hesitated. “Well, that really believed in the gospel. Do you ever feel like that?”
Jeff smiled; then laughed. It felt so good not to grin. “I get discouraged sometimes, but I get over it.” He looked over at Kristi, “You’ll be all right,” he said with conviction.
And he knew that he would be too. His dad had been right. It didn’t matter if there were 7,000 or 70,000 who were trying to do what was right because no one, not Elijah, not Kristi, and not Jeff Daniels was ever really alone.

Then, months later, I began to feel guilty. I had made a promise to God, and I had not kept it. My brother was home, life had stabilized, and I had still not looked for a church to attend.
Then, I met a girl.
One night in April 2012, I met a girl who, from the moment I saw her, I felt I would marry. We met at a party, and after some effort on my part, she finally gave me her number. We went on our first date a few days later, and after that we were inseparable. We were together every day.
Eventually, I met her parents. They welcomed me into their home and treated me like family. I knew they were members of the Church, but at that point I did not know enough to have an opinion. What I did know was that they were kind, loving, genuine people. They taught me more by example than by formal lessons.
Later that summer, my future father-in-law asked me to help him build a shed in his yard. One day, while we were working, I saw two young men walk through the gate looking like they were ready to help. As you can probably guess, they were missionaries. Were they good construction workers? Not really. But they were the right missionaries for me. They were exactly who I needed to teach me. I remember one of them asking me as I drove nails, “What do you know about Jesus Christ?” We had my first lesson as we worked on that shed.
After months of missionary lessons, church attendance, home teaching visits, young single adult activities, and even watching general conference, I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on December 22, 2012.
Looking back, I can clearly see the hand of God in my life. I can now clearly see that He heard desperate prayers. I can clearly see that He was guiding me long before I fully understood it. And I see that my baptism was not the end of my conversion story. It was just the beginning.

When I was 11 years old, I won my first state cross-country title and vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness and determined to conquer mediocrity, I stormed the gates of excellence as I began a routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from three to ten miles. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to deter me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto. I even learned to like healthy foods.
By the time I was 14, things could not have been going better. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by our local newspaper as the fastest freshman in the state of Oregon. I felt good and knew I was ready.
Three teammates and I had been invited to participate in the prestigious Meet of Champions in Portland. Full of confident chatter, we piled into the team van with our coach on our way to the meet.
As we pulled onto the highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously decided to fasten my seat belt. Everyone began joking about the seat belt law. In the midst of the teasing, I casually looked up and noticed a car flying over the top of a hill approximately 200 yards ahead of us. Completely out of control, it was coming directly toward us in our lane. It began swerving back and forth between the borrow pit and the road, barely avoiding several cars ahead of us. Crippled by a sense of sickening helplessness, the occupants of our van were seized by an ominous silence as we focused on the inescapable disaster that surely would occur.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radio lingo, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by a policeman. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt buckled, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. A dozen policemen dotted the hillside and roadway. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances whirled in beside our crushed van, and I was very carefully extracted from the totaled vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one medic say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
It turned out my back wasn’t broken—just my nose. However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my timetable for being in top form for nationals was once again interrupted.
After regaining my strength I began to work out. But as I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and smooth strides, like I used to. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. Even though I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him, and how the luck that had thwarted my progress favored him.
I watched Tyler take state, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A horde of excited fans swarmed around him as I stood back. In spite of myself, an uncanny sense of pride swelled inside of me, and as Tyler’s blue eyes shot past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the warmth was so intense that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. His need for my approval drew from me a depth of response that shredded my resentment. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to nationals equipped with all I knew and the might of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of drills to improve his reflexes, surges, and kick. We talked racing whenever we could. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both took first in the Northwest Regional Championships that qualified us for the national meet in North Carolina. Because of the break in my training caused by the accident, I realistically hoped to place in the top 25. I achieved that by taking 21st out of 300 runners. I reached my goal and earned all-American status.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. As we sought out his place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I could sense his apprehension as if it was my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy.
“Be tough, Ty. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can take The Kid,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a flawless race as I sprinted from place to place on the course cheering him on and hoping he could feel my support. Could he hear me above the crowd? Could he sense how I was pulling for him to find the strength? He came out of the trees in second place. “Stay on his shoulder, Ty!” I screeched. “Use your arms! Breathe deep!”
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters we had run over and over together. It was a moment we had planned. “Pull, Tyler! Give it all you’ve got! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish as the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me I had won something too. Shaken and jubilant, I was consumed by a riot of emotions. I had given myself away and felt something far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. Breathless and filled with fatigue, Tyler again sought my eyes over the crowd. As he came to my side, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way. I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”

When our youngest child was six years old and in the first grade at school, her teacher gave the children an in-class writing assignment. It was October, the month of Halloween, a holiday observed in some parts of the world. While it is not my favorite holiday, I suppose there may be some innocent and redeeming aspects of Halloween.

The teacher passed out a piece of paper to the young students. At the top was a roughly drawn picture of a mythical witch (I told you this was not my favorite holiday) standing over a boiling cauldron. The question posed on the page, to encourage the imaginations of the children and to test their rudimentary writing skills, was “You have just drunk a cup of the witch’s brew. What happened to you?” Please know that this story is not being shared as a recommendation to teachers.

“You have just drunk a cup of the witch’s brew. What happened to you?” With her best beginner’s writing, our little one wrote, “I will die and I will be in heaven. I will like it there. I would love it because it is the best place to be because you are with your Heavenly Father.” This answer likely surprised her teacher; however, when our daughter brought the completed assignment home, we noted that she was given a star, the highest grade.

Those who remain at home—parents and other family members—also sacrifice by forgoing the companionship and service of the missionaries they send forth. For example, a young Brazilian received a missionary call while he was working to support his brothers and sisters after his father and mother died. A General Authority described these children’s meeting in council and remembering that their deceased parents had taught them that they should always be prepared to serve the Lord. The young man accepted his missionary call, and a 16-year-old brother took over the responsibility of working to support the family. Most of us know of many other examples of sacrifice to serve a mission or to support a missionary. We know of no other voluntary service and sacrifice like this in any other organization in the world.

“Touchdown! He saved the day!” Chris’s big brother, Evan, whooped as he jumped up from the couch and turned off the television. “Did you ever see such a great player?” Evan asked Dad.
“Not that I recall.” Dad smiled. “He’s quite a hero.”
“I’m going to put his picture on my wall,” Evan said as he headed up to his room.
Chris helped Dad pick up the popcorn bowls and take them to the kitchen. “Why did you say he’s a hero, Dad?” Chris asked. “He didn’t save someone’s life or anything like that.”
“No, he didn’t,” Dad said as he put the bowls into the dishwasher. “I guess I called him a hero because he did something important to help his team. He did something the other players couldn’t do. That’s what makes a hero.”
Just then Chris’s mom came into the kitchen, carrying a big bag of groceries.
“Let me help you with that,” Chris’s dad said and took the bag from her arms.
“Thanks.” Mom smiled. “Just in time—I was about to drop it. My hero!” she said, kissing Dad gently on the cheek.
Chris looked at Dad. “You’re a hero, too?”
“I guess so.” Dad grinned.
“Mom,” Chris’s big sister, Julie, yelled as she came into the kitchen. “Did you remember to get the ingredients I need?”
“Right here.” Mom pulled some items from the sack.
“Thanks, Mom,” Julie sighed. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“A lifesaver?” Chris mused. “Does that mean Mom’s your hero, Julie?”
Julie shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Wow—two heroes in one room!”
“I don’t know about two heroes, but there are definitely too many people in the kitchen,” Julie said. “Everyone out. I need to make cupcakes for a service project.”
Chris wandered up to the bedroom he shared with Evan. Evan was sitting on his bed, reading a magazine. On the wall behind him was a picture of the football player who had made the winning touchdown.
Chris went through his desk and found a photograph of his family. He studied it a while, then asked, “Evan, have you ever done something for someone that he couldn’t do for himself?”
Evan looked up from his magazine. “I guess so.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I shovel Mrs. Bates’s driveway when it snows. She can’t do that for herself.”
“Good. That makes you a hero.”
“A hero? I’m no hero.”
“You are to Mrs. Bates.”
A slow smile spread across Evan’s face. “Yeah. I guess maybe you’re right.” He went back to reading his magazine.
Chris put the family photo into his pocket and went down to the kitchen, where Julie was measuring ingredients into a bowl. Chris sat at the table and watched her work.
“I suppose you want to lick the bowl,” Julie said.
“No. I’m just watching.” Chris watched Julie in silence while she beat the batter and poured it into cupcake pans. After she put them into the oven, he asked, “Who are you making the cupcakes for?”
“We’re celebrating birthdays with the ladies at the nursing home tonight.”
“Can’t the ladies make their own cupcakes?”
“No. They don’t have kitchens in their rooms.”
“Oh. Did you know that that makes you their hero?”
Julie smiled. “Sure. I’m rescuing them from cakeless birthdays.” She untied her apron and whipped it around her neck to her back. “Here I come to save the day!” she yelled. She pretended to fly as she ran out of the room, her apron fluttering out behind her.
Chris laughed. He went back to his room and tacked the family photo to the wall above his bed. He stood back and looked at it. Everyone in the picture was a hero: Dad, Mom, Evan, Julie. Even their dog, Misty, saved the family garden by chasing rabbits out of the yard in the summer. Chris sighed. He wanted to be a hero, too, but what could he do?
Just then Chris heard someone calling his name. He went to the top of the stairs and saw his dad standing at the front door. “Hey, Chris,” Dad said, “want to go on a rescue mission with me? Your mom forgot to get milk at the store and needs someone to get it while she fixes dinner.”
“Sure,” Chris said. This was his chance to do something for someone who couldn’t do it for herself. This was his chance to be a hero.
As they drove to the store, Chris told his Dad about the photo on his wall. “Did you know that we have a house full of heroes?” Chris asked.
“Now that you mention it, I guess we do. But do you know why we have a house full of heroes?”
“No.” Chris frowned. “Why?”
“Because we are all trying to be like the greatest hero of all. Actually, the person I’m talking about was much more than a hero. He did something to save everyone in the world. He atoned for our sins and was resurrected, making it possible for us to return to our heavenly home. That is something that we could never do for ourselves. And He was the only one who could do it for us. Do you know who that was?”
“Jesus Christ?”
“Right.”
Chris thought about this for a minute. “Do you have a picture of Jesus, Dad?” he asked. “I’d like to put it on my wall next to our family photo.”

Micki Adams, West Point Stake Young Women president, and Annice Nixon, her second counselor, spearheaded the bear project. They approached Captain K. D. Simpson of the Davis County Sheriff’s Department with the idea of placing teddy bears with the sheriff’s paramedic and patrol units.
Captain Simpson told them that children are involved in approximately 45 percent of all the calls for services by the Davis County Paramedics.
Sister Adams read a newspaper article about a Montana group who donated teddy bears to a paramedic organization. She brought up the idea at a Young Women presidency meeting, and the theme “Teddy Bear Picnic” was selected for the Young Women birthday party.
Knowing how anxious children are when confronting a policeman or a paramedic, the Young Women decided that they would create teddy bears to help. “We wanted to give the child something to focus on beside his pain,” Sister Adams said. “We wanted to give him something to hold on to and to love.”
When the young women gathered for a stake Young Women birthday party, they met to begin clipping, turning, stuffing and hand finishing 285 bears.
Lori Ellsworth, a Beehive in the West Point Third Ward, said, “The first bear was hard to make until I got the hang of it. But it was worth it because it would help someone in pain.”
Ninety bears were completed that evening. The girls took the rest of the bears home to finish on their own.
The bears are eight inches tall and made from scraps donated by the stake Young Women presidency. The West Point Stake Relief Society donated most of the stuffing.
The Davis County Sheriff’s Department received 100 teddy bears. Captain Simpson said it is policy now for a paramedic or a sheriff on a call to give any child involved under the age of ten a bear. However, young children have not been the only recipients. The paramedics gave a bear to an 80-year-old woman who suffered a stroke. “It was the only thing that calmed her down,” said Captain Simpson. “She wouldn’t let go of the bear.”
The local hospital received another 100 teddy bears that were hung on a Christmas tree. Children admitted to the hospital were able to choose which one they wanted.
Captain Simpson said, “At first the paramedics weren’t too sure about using the bears. It wasn’t macho. It took two or three times using the bears before they realized how well they worked. Now if they don’t have enough, they get more. They count on them when working with children.”
Captain Simpson, who is also a flight paramedic, saw firsthand how effective the bears can be. Twelve-year-old Nicole Wallace had to be flown by helicopter from one hospital to another. She was bleeding internally from a lacerated kidney and liver suffered in an automobile accident. She refused to give up her bear even when the paramedics needed to transfer her from one gurney to another. She finally gave it up just before undergoing surgery.
Nicole lives in the West Point Sixth Ward but had not yet turned 12 when her friends had made the green spotted bear the paramedics gave her after the accident.
“The paramedics had to take the seat out. Then they took me out of the back window. When they put me in the ambulance, they gave me this cute little bear,” Nicole said. “It kept me from getting scared. I would hold on to it, so I wouldn’t hurt so bad. In the hospital it stayed right by me in my bed.”
Jennifer Techmeyer, a Beehive in the West Point Seventh Ward, said, “I thought it was really great to make something to put in the ambulance for the kids. I thought it was special to donate our love to them.”

May I share with you an account of an opportunity of service which came to me unexpectedly and in an unusual manner. I received a telephone call from a granddaughter of an old friend. She asked, “Do you remember Francis Brems, who was your Sunday School teacher?” I told her that I did. She continued, “He is now 105 years of age. He lives in a small care center but meets with the entire family each Sunday, where he delivers a Sunday School lesson. Last Sunday Grandpa announced to us, ‘My dears, I am going to die this week. Will you please call Tommy Monson and tell him this. He’ll know what to do.’ ”
I visited Brother Brems the very next evening. I could not speak to him, for he was deaf. I could not write a message for him to read, for he was blind. What was I to do? I was told that his family communicated with him by taking the finger of his right hand and then tracing on the palm of his left hand the name of the person visiting and then any message. I followed the procedure and took his finger and spelled on the palm of his hand T-O-M-M-Y M-O-N-S-O-N. Brother Brems became excited and, taking my hands, placed them on his head. I knew his desire was to receive a priesthood blessing. The driver who had taken me to the care center joined me as we placed our hands on the head of Brother Brems and provided the desired blessing. Afterward tears streamed from his sightless eyes. He grasped our hands, and we read the movement of his lips. The message: “Thank you so much.”
Within that very week, just as Brother Brems had predicted, he passed away. I received the telephone call and then met with the family as funeral arrangements were made. How thankful I am that a response to render service was not delayed.

Several weeks ago I returned to my old high school for the first time in years. I was visiting a stake conference that was being held in the school’s auditorium. As I walked down the halls, a flood of memories began to pour into my mind. I remembered exactly how I felt when I attended high school as a young woman—insecure, unsure of myself, self-conscious, and so, so desirous to fit in. I went into the auditorium. Again a flood of memories came to mind. I was familiar with every detail of that auditorium. Only one thing had changed—me.
That day I had the opportunity to stand on the stage as I had done in high school many times as a student officer. I even saw some of my former classmates in the audience—some I had dated! But this time, instead of conducting an assembly, I had the privilege—there in my high school auditorium—to “stand as a witness”6 and bear my testimony of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
Young women, make sure your relationships with others are such that 40 years from now, you will not be embarrassed. No amount of peer pressure, no acceptance, no popularity is worth a compromise. Your influence on the young men will help them remain worthy of their priesthood power, of temple covenants, and of serving a mission. And who knows? Forty years from now, you may even have one of them walk up to you, there in your high school auditorium, and thank you for helping him remain worthy to fulfill his priesthood duty to serve an honorable mission. And who knows? You may even receive a letter from one of those young men’s wives, thanking you for the influence you had on her husband and their future family clear back in your high school days. Your choices matter. Your choices now not only affect you, but they also affect others. They are of eternal significance. Be not moved!

On a Sunday in July last year, the Hmong ward in Sacramento, California, gathered for a special celebration. Five boys from the Nong Shala Ward (Hmong), Troop 338, and one from Oroville met with friends and family to celebrate their new wings. All six earned their Eagle awards over the summer.
These Scouts’ Eagle projects were varied and reached into their community. At a local school, volunteers painted volleyball courts, basketball courts, and murals; others cleaned and refurbished the school’s garden areas. At another school, they painted bathrooms and offices. Several of the boys had projects that took on tasks suggested by the city to build benches for the old cemetery. Another project included installing directional signs, clearing trails, and general clean up for the Church’s girls’ camp facility.
These 6 young men are the latest in a series of 21 to receive the award since Troop 338 was chartered in 1993. Since then, 11 of the Eagle Scouts have gone on to serve full-time missions.

In another unforgettable incident they landed up against a barbed wire fence and were in the process of packing the balloon to get it back across the fence when an army of youngsters appeared from nowhere. One young lady with red hair, pigtails, and freckles stood watching with huge eyes. Finally she timidly touched the arm of one of the priests as he went past while helping to load the balloon. “Please, sir,” she said, “may I have your autograph?” She got his signature and everyone else’s and went away clutching the paper as if she had conversed with Martians or angels and was taking home the evidence.

When Kate Hansen was 10 her father drove her to Slider Search, a local clinic being held for kids to try out for luge. “I tell people that luge is like bobsledding,” says Kate. “At the clinic, they set up hay bales and cones on the street and then let the kids ride a trainer sled with wheels down the course. I went through the cones without crashing. I remember it being really fun. Plus they wanted to see how well I took direction.”

As a result of the clinic, both Kate and her cousin were invited to come to Lake Placid, New York, where the national luge training facility is located. The first time Kate tried out a real sled on an ice course, she loved it. It was fast and fun. “It’s like a roller coaster but pretty relaxing. It’s very flowing.”

An example of true love and inspired teaching was found in the life of the late James Collier, who had, through his personal efforts, reactivated a large number of brethren in Bountiful, Utah. I was invited by Brother Collier to address those who had now been ordained elders and who, with their wives and families, had been to the Salt Lake Temple to receive those eternal covenants and blessings for which they had so earnestly strived.

At the banquet honoring this achievement, I could see and I could feel the love that Jim had for those whom he had taught and rescued and the love they had for him. Unfortunately, Jim Collier at that time was afflicted with a terminal illness and had to persuade the doctors to allow him to leave the hospital to attend this final night of recognition.

As Jim stood at the pulpit, a large smile came over his face. With emotion he expressed his love to the group. There wasn’t a dry eye to be found. Brother Collier quipped, “Everyone wants to go to the celestial kingdom, but no one wants to die to get there.” Then, lowering his voice, Jim continued, “I’m prepared to go, and I will be there waiting on the other side to greet each of you, my beloved friends.”

Jim returned to the hospital. His funeral service was held just a short time later.

Aid Stations
There is nothing as joyous as a well-stocked aid station when you really need one. I’ve seen all kinds of aid stations—some just have a gallon of water hidden in a bush or one kid lazily pointing the way to turn. Some have so much good food and drink you’re tempted to stop and graze for a while. The point is many courses have help along the way, especially at points where runners need it most. Aid stations are carefully planned out by course directors to provide direction, point out pitfalls, and replenish energy. As we run our races, let’s not ignore the aid stations around us.

Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin said, “You young people also have ‘aid stations’ to help you keep moving along your course. They should include your parents, other family members, ward leaders, and teachers who have ‘run more races’ and are farther along the path of life. Benefit from the experience they have accumulated.” [58]

We’re surrounded by spiritual aid stations. We have daily aid stations of scripture study and prayer. We have the weekly aid station of the Sacrament where we’re spiritually fed a reminder of the covenants we’ve made. We have an eternally significant aid station just up the hill in the temple, where we can rest from the worries of our race, remind ourselves of the straitness of the path, and fortify ourselves against whatever trials might lay ahead.

Perhaps now and then we also have the opportunity to be someone else’s aid station. As we pay attention to the runners around us, we might, now and then, share a word of encouragement or, more importantly, provide some spiritual nourishment to a fellow runner struggling along. President Monson said, “You and I do not run alone. That vast audience of family, friends, and leaders will cheer our courage, will applaud our determination as we rise from our stumblings and pursue our goal.” [59]

The Run to the Sun on Maui [60] had great aid stations, and I was grateful for each one of them. Each station had positive people and delectable food—the one at Mile 29 had whole baked potatoes!

The best part of that race, though, was that, starting at Mile 26, my eternal companion was at every aid station. She’d wait for me to come through, give me a word or two of encouragement, flash a beautiful smile, and then drive ahead to the next one and wait for me. But it’s not just at races. My wife is my everyday aid station. Through the longest day or the darkest night, I’m blessed to have her there, to help me and to forgive me, always encouraging me to be better, run my best, and endure to the end. If you haven’t yet found your eternal companion, I encourage you to think about the person who will have the qualities you’ll need at your own personal aid station. If you are married, I encourage you to consistently think of what your spouse might need at his or her aid station and be the best support you can.

When President Hinckley announced his challenge to Church members to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year, I went to work. I read the scriptures every single night, even if it was only one or two verses at a time. The more I kept reading, the more I noticed the difference it was making in my life.
I prayed and felt closer to the Savior each time I read. I also started doing better in school and other things. December was coming quick, and I was going to turn 12 and receive the Aaronic Priesthood. I tried as hard as I could to be done by my birthday, but I didn’t make it. Sometimes I forgot to read, but my Primary teachers encouraged me to keep choosing the right and to finish the Book of Mormon.
On Christmas Day I woke up and read the final chapters in the Book of Moroni. I felt the Spirit, and I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I know with all my heart that we can become more like our Savior, Jesus Christ, by reading and following the scriptures.

Perhaps an experience is the best explanation. A very promising young girl wanted to know what the Lord expected from her. She was one of the active forces in the MIA, a somewhat autocratic young lady. She came from six hundred miles away for the sole purpose of receiving her patriarchal blessing and learning what the Lord expected her to do. Because the blessing had to be translated first into the French language, she was forced to wait longer for it. She became impatient and asked me in a letter to inform her what the special message of her blessing was. Thereupon I consoled her with the answer: patience is the special message. After receipt of the translation she wrote to me again that she could not find the special message in her blessing. So I had to answer her that she should read the blessing again carefully and she would find some things therein that, if she would follow them, would make someone aware of her who would then tell her what she should do. Two years later she informed me that she was traveling to the temple to receive her endowments. She had been called on a mission to Scotland and wanted to see me again before leaving. In the meantime she had been responsible for several baptisms, her parents were attending meetings, her mother was trying to keep the Word of Wisdom, and her sister had been baptized.

Was something special contained in her blessing? Was her patience rewarded? Certainly. And this was only the beginning of a long, successful life. How and for what should one prepare oneself? We should not prepare ourselves for something just because another has received it. What the Lord expects of us is found in the example of Nathaniel (John 1:45–47), and therewith the readiness to do everything that may be expected for the fulfillment of the blessing given and to avoid everything that would detract from it.

My parents did not have a loving marriage. My mom, striving and resilient, tried to make the relationship work for her children’s sakes, but when it became physically dangerous for us to remain with him, she decided to free herself from the 16-year marriage that had drained so much life from her.
Before their divorce, I had been unaware that their marriage wasn’t a loving one, although I did have moments of doubt. There were several incidents where I witnessed the lack of love between my parents, but I didn’t start recognizing them for what they were until years later. Now I look back and can see that even though my parents tried to make the marriage work, they didn’t like each other—they tolerated each other.
After the divorce, I realized I couldn’t use my parents’ marriage as a model for my own future marriage. For a while I didn’t know what a strong, happy marriage looked like. Then, a few years after my parents’ divorce, I started noticing the big differences between their marriage and marriages in which the spouses truly loved and liked each other.
To counterbalance the negativity of my parents’ marriage, Heavenly Father has blessed me with an abundance of “power couples” in my extended family—aunts and uncles and grandparents who have very strong marriages. Whenever I’m at family gatherings or visiting relatives, I watch these couples closely, noting things they do or have that I want in my own future marriage. One uncle easily and habitually slips his arm around his wife’s shoulders and jokes with her in whispers. An aunt always takes time out of her busy schedule to talk with her husband when he gets home from work. And another couple does almost everything together.
There’s romantic love: sweet kisses (often in public), affectionate nicknames, and holding hands. But there’s also deep friendship: humble apologies, good-natured laughter, and impressive teamwork. They understand that, as Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained, “the first element of divine love … is its kindness, its selfless quality, its lack of ego and vanity and consuming self-centeredness.”1 These friendships have developed over time as both spouses continually live the principles of the gospel—treating each other with Christlike kindness and respect. They seem to live President Russell M. Nelson’s counsel that “marriages would be happier if nurtured more carefully.”2 Through these fantastic examples of friendship-based marriages, I have seen that liking my future husband will be as important as loving him.
Here are some things I’ve observed spouses doing when they like as well as love each other:
They want to spend more time with each other than with other people.
They feel comfortable doing or talking about anything with each other.
They work toward the same goals.
They find the middle ground often, but they also are willing to yield to each other when they see that the other spouse needs it.
They aren’t afraid to be openly affectionate with each other.
They listen attentively to each other.
They make time for each other.
They work together.
They have fun together.
They read the scriptures and pray together.
They go to the temple together.
They see each other as blessings (see 1 Nephi 16:7–8).
These are ideal aspects of marriage, of course. And as Elder Robert D. Hales (1932–2017) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “None of us marry perfection; we marry potential.”3 I have certainly seen disagreements and misunderstandings in my relatives’ marriages. But the strong couples are always able to work through their problems and become better together. Even when they don’t see eye to eye on something, they’re still best friends. Their marriage is the most important thing to them after their relationship with God.
Holding on to my grandmother’s statement that she “really likes” my grandfather, I continue to search for someone I can share that kind of deep, loving friendship with. And I strive to become the kind of person that someone would want to be best friends with.
Attraction and romance are definitely important, but the most common factor I see in strong marriages is deep friendship. I can now say for certain that a marriage built on friendship—which is, in turn, built on the gospel of Jesus Christ—is the most likely to last for eternity.

My life changed forever when two young missionaries first visited our Central Valley home during the winter prior to my fourteenth birthday. My father was expert in the “law of the barrio,” also known as “street law.” He was highly skeptical of strangers and fiercely protective of our family. My mother recently reminded me of the time he called the police because he had spied someone who drove by and put a bomb into our mailbox. The police quickly responded to investigate, only to discover a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Obviously we were not used to the kindnesses expressed by members of the Church.
It was one of the greatest miracles I have ever witnessed when my father allowed the missionaries into our home. Because of the work of the missionaries, my father and mother and my younger brother, David, and I decided to become members of the Church.
One of the first activities I attended after my baptism was a church youth dance. I don’t remember what I expected to experience, but when I walked into that church building and saw all of those beautiful Mormon girls, I knew the Church was true!
I am grateful to the missionaries who taught me the gospel of Jesus Christ and to the youth of the Church who welcomed me into a new way of life.

In 2015, a three-year-old Arwen Villapando from Quezon City went to their neighborhood store to buy something. While waiting to be served, she was standing on a muddy sidewalk and noticed what looked like a large coin covered in petrified mud. Thinking it was money, she brought it home.
Her father Ireneo was newly-baptized member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and her mother Maribel was being taught by missionaries. They got curious about the muddy coin their youngest daughter brought home so they cleaned it up. It took days to get it clean, and they even had to use a steel brush. As they scraped off the mud, the words “Aaronic Priesthood” appeared and after a while images of the temple and three personages became visible. The familiar engravings prompted them to clean the medallion and keep it as a souvenir. They never told anyone about it until September 2017 during a Stake Family Discovery Day.
A booth Arwen’s mother visited had a small box wherein a familiar coin was displayed. She was astonished to see that it was similar to their coin! Upon asking, she learned that it was a medallion awarded to young men who successfully finished the Duty to God program.
The Villapando family finally shared the story of how they found the medallion. The members wanted to help them find the owner of the medallion but they had no leads. For the family, the medallion was a reminder from heavenly Father for them to stay true to the covenants they made as members of the Church.
Through the years, the medallion was a reminder to Brother Ireneo to magnify his priesthood and lead his family in living the gospel. To Sister Maribel, it was a lesson that material wealth or money is not the most important thing in the world: it’s having a happy and healthy family and staying united in serving the Lord. To Arwen, the medallion teaches her that she is a child of God, and that her potential for eternal growth is limitless.
To this day, the Villapando family keeps the medallion as a reminder that they made the right decision when they joined the Church, and they will do everything to stay on the covenant path.