Gospel Story Finder

“Do you know what I want more than anything else, Dad?” This was my son talking as we walked along together. Like a newscaster’s prebroadcast review, some observations of the past several days quickly spun through my mind. The carpet in one room of my son’s modest home was worn like an over-used sheet of carbon paper. Their only lamp drooped its tired head like a wilted flower. His car at near 80,000 miles was begging for retirement. Which of these among many others does he need most? I wondered.
“What I want more than anything else,” he continued, “is for you to be proud of me.” This was my proudest moment. I was proud of his mature sense of values—and rather ashamed of my own momentary immaturity.
Once more I recalled the sweet spirit I had found in his home, the way we had knelt in family prayer, the family home evening in which his seven-year-old daughter directed the program. My heart swelled as I recalled the love he had expressed for his devoted wife, for his bishop, for his home teachers, for the gospel’s influence in his life, and for his marriage.

Jane was always forgetting things.
Sometimes she forgot to hang up her coat. Sometimes she forgot to put her toys away. Sometimes she forgot to brush her teeth and make her bed. And almost always when she checked out books at the library, she forgot to return them until they were overdue.
But what made Mother most unhappy was that Jane often forgot to bring her boots home from school. Or her cap. Or her mittens. Every winter morning Jane dressed warmly before leaving for school. But when Jane came home, very often her mittens were missing. Or her cap. Or her boots.
Mother would say, “Jane, did you forget again?”
And Jane would always answer, “Oh, Mother, I’m so busy thinking that I don’t have time to remember.”
One Friday afternoon Jane was very busy thinking. The sun was warm when she came out of school. She walked along, kicking a stone in front of her. She didn’t notice that she had forgotten her cap and her mittens and her boots. She was too busy thinking.
When Jane opened her eyes on Saturday morning, she saw something outside her window. She rushed over to look out at the small white flakes that were falling.
“Hurray!” Jane called. “It’s snowing!”
She put on her Saturday play clothes and ran out to the kitchen.
“Your breakfast is ready,” Mother said.
“I have to hurry,” Jane cried, “because I want to play in the snow!”
But when Jane started to get ready to go outside, her face wrinkled up in a frown.
“Where are my boots?” she called.
“I don’t know,” Mother answered. “Did you forget to bring them home from school?”
Jane nodded her head. “And I guess I forgot my cap and mittens, too,” she said slowly after she had looked all around her room. “But I remembered my coat,” she finished proudly.
“Jane,” Mother said patiently, “you can’t go outside to play in the snow wearing just your coat.”
“Please,” Jane pleaded, “I love the snow.”
“Well, maybe I can think of something,” Mother said. And she did.
She thought of boots belonging to Jane’s big brother Bud, to use for Jane’s feet. Of course, they were too big, and Jane could barely lift her feet to walk in them.
Then Mother thought of the scarf that belonged to Daddy, to use for Jane’s head. Of course, it was too long and had to be wound three times around Jane’s head. She could hardly see out.
And finally, Mother thought of her own gloves, to use for Jane’s hands. Of course, the fingers were too big and too long and just kept flapping even when Jane pulled the gloves on as far as she could.
But at last Jane was ready to go outside.
She decided to make a snowman. Over and over she rolled the snowballs. Next she piled them one on top of the other, and finally her snowman was finished. She put a broom in his hand and an old hat of Daddy’s on his head.
Just then Daddy drove up.
“Hi!” Jane called out.
Daddy pretended to be surprised.
“Who’s that talking?” he asked. “All I can see are two funny looking snowmen.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Jane said. “I’m not a snowman. I’m Jane.”
“So you are,” Daddy laughed. “But why are you dressed up like that? Are you trying to scare the snowman?”
Jane began to laugh. “Daddy, you know I’m not. It’s just that I was thinking so hard yesterday that I forgot to bring home my boots and cap and mittens.”
“Well,” Daddy smiled, “you had better come inside now to eat some lunch. We don’t want you to frighten someone who is driving by.”
After lunch Jane started to get ready to go back outside. But Bud needed his boots to go sliding with the boys. Daddy needed his scarf when he went to the hardware store. And Mother needed her gloves when she went outside to sweep the front porch.
So Jane had to sit all alone inside the house, just looking out at all of the beautiful white snow.
On Monday afternoon Jane came running home from school wearing her cap and her mittens and her boots.
“Why, Jane,” Mother said, “you remembered everything. Have you given up thinking?”
“No, Mother,” Jane answered. “I’m still thinking, but now I’ve decided to think about remembering things.”

When President Thomas S. Monson was young, his parents taught him the principle of work by their examples. His father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. When he was home, he did not stop working in order to take a well-deserved rest. He continued to work by providing service to family and neighbors alike.3 His mother was always working to provide some needed service to a family member or friend. President Monson’s parents often asked him to accompany them or to do some service for them, allowing him to learn firsthand about working to serve others.

President Monson learned from his father how to work in business and began his first part-time job when he was 14, working in the printing shop that his father managed. President Monson relates that after age 14, there have not been many days in his life—other than Sundays—when he didn’t work. “When you learn to work while you’re young, the habit stays with you,” he says.4

Surrounded by a crowd of young women, Ariel Liston walked into her bedroom with her eyes closed. Slowly, as she opened her eyes, she lifted her hands to her face and began to cry.
“You guys did this for me? It’s so awesome. Wow! It’s so pretty!”
Ariel, a Mia Maid in the Orchard First Ward, Bountiful Utah Orchard Stake, couldn’t contain her happiness when she saw her “new” room. She loved the bright paint, the curtains, the dresser with her name lovingly stenciled on it, but most of all she was crying because she realized how much the other young women in the ward loved her.
Ariel’s room had needed some work. There were holes in the walls, the carpet was ragged, and she didn’t have a closet to hang her clothes in. Angela Gatherum, a Laurel in the ward, had similar needs in her own bedroom.
Knowing that these two girls needed help, the young women in their ward got together to remodel Ariel’s and Angela’s rooms. On a small budget, they transformed the girls’ bedrooms into beautiful living spaces. They painted, organized, made accessories and art pieces, refinished old furniture rescued from Deseret Industries and ward members, and even tore up flooring (all with parental permission, of course).
Their activity took all day, but their hard work and creativity paid off. When the young women were done, they led the girls into their rooms with their eyes closed.
“It was amazing to see the look on Ariel’s face when she opened her eyes,” says Angela, who helped remodel Ariel’s room. “I loved to see all the girls come together for the sake of serving.”
Elaine Petersen, a Mia Maid, agrees: “Seeing Ariel’s face was priceless. It made me want to do her whole house!”
The girls did a lot of work and were tired and dirty when they were done, but it was worth it. “It didn’t seem like it was work, it was so much fun!” says Katie Mortensen, a Mia Maid.
Melissa Anderson, a Beehive says, “I felt like I had made a difference.”
Not only did the girls learn some valuable decorating and cleaning skills, they also learned about how powerful they can be when they work together for a righteous cause. “This project took all of us to complete it,” says Heidi Anderson, a Laurel. “It wouldn’t have worked as well if we wouldn’t have had everyone there.”
Ariel and Angela got in on the fun, too, as they helped remodel each other’s rooms. They weren’t allowed to go into their own rooms until the other young women were finished. They were so grateful for the help they received in making their rooms more pleasant places to be. “Your surroundings have such a huge effect on the way you feel and act,” says Angela.
She thinks what the young women did for her is amazing. “My room is something I see every day, and so every day I am reminded of all the love and work that went into it on my behalf. It really makes me feel loved.”
Above Ariel’s bed the young women hung a hand-painted sign. It reads, “To every thing there is a season” (Eccl. 3:1). For the young women of the Orchard First Ward, their activity wasn’t just a season to paint, fix, and decorate; it was a season to love, serve, and give.

Pich Sareth, a member of the Phnom Penh 12th Branch in the Phnom Penh Cambodia North District, also saw trials at a very young age. He was only five years old when he was separated from his family and forced to work in the fields. He would sometimes find crabs or frogs he could eat to quell his hunger.
Brother Pich’s wife, Seng Tha, and her family were also forced from their home. Because she was only four years old and small, she was not required to work, as other children were. She was separated from her family much of the day and was watched by elderly women who could not work.
After meeting the missionaries in 1995, Brother Pich and his wife began to learn about the love Heavenly Father has for them. “When I had problems, I could see that praying helped me get through them,” Brother Pich says. “I knew Heavenly Father cared.”
After Brother Pich decided to be baptized, his wife also gained a testimony of the gospel and was baptized.
Since their baptisms, Brother Pich and his family have recognized the joy that stems from gaining a testimony of Jesus Christ. The Pich family takes time every day to read the scriptures. As they have done this, the joy of the gospel has permeated their souls.
“We feel we are on the right path now, and we want to stay on this narrow path and continue to progress,” Sister Seng says. “I am grateful every day that we can have our children on this path with us.”

Reading the scriptures is hard for Shellee because of the vocabulary. She doesn’t recognize words from having heard them in conversation; she has to learn each word individually by looking it up. Words like nevertheless are hard enough to understand when you’ve heard other people use them. How is a deaf person to understand it without help?
Shellee’s seminary teacher is helping to solve this problem with drawings. She has her students draw pictures in their scriptures that go along with the stories so they can have a better idea of what is going on. “It helps a lot,” Shellee says.

While Angie brushed her teeth, she stared in the mirror at the front teeth that seemed too big for her thin face, and she thought that they made her look like a monster. She shuddered and took a long time to rinse her toothbrush. Slowly she turned off the tap.
How she wished it was morning, with a sunny kitchen full of light and with breakfast waiting for her, instead of bedtime. Soft lamplight flooded her bedroom, but Angie thought only of the shadows in the corners and under her bed.
She whispered good night to Albert, her hamster, who lived in the cage on the table near the window in Angie’s room. Albert wasn’t afraid of the dark. She often heard him running on the wheel in his cage after the lights went out. She was glad he was there. Next to Mommy and Daddy, Angie loved Albert best, and knowing he was there made her feel less afraid. Angie’s friends teased her when she said that Albert was the bravest hamster in the whole world, but she didn’t care, because she knew that it was true.
Angie padded down the hallway to Mommy’s bedroom to say good night. Her father was away on business for a few days. Mommy smiled at her over her book and patted the bed. Angie crawled in beside her and settled into the crook of Mommy’s arm.
“May I sleep in here with you tonight?”
Mommy smiled. “It’s lonesome without Daddy, isn’t it? But I think you’d best sleep in your own room, or Albert might get lonely. Go brush your teeth, and I’ll come tuck you in.”
“I already did. But …” Suddenly Angie was crying. “I don’t want to sleep in my bed anymore. Not ever again! I want to sleep in here with you and Daddy, like when I was little.”
“What’s the matter, pumpkin?” Mommy’s strong arms held Angie tight. “Why don’t you want to sleep in your bed?”
“Because they’ll pull off my toes.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The monsters!” Angie took a deep breath through the tears that streamed down her face. “The little monsters that live under my bed!” There, she’d finally admitted it out loud.
“But, Angie, there are no monsters under your bed. You’re a big girl now, and you know that.”
“I hear them at night,” whispered Angie. “And I dream that they wait under the bed, and when I get in it, they pinch and pull my toes. That’s why I jump onto my bed from the middle of my room.”
“Well, I think we’d better go to your room and take a look together,” said Mommy with a smile.
Angie hopped down and ran ahead to tell Albert that Mommy was coming to scare away the monsters. But when she got to her room, the cage door was open, and the cage was empty. “Mommy,” cried Angie, “Albert’s gone!”
“What?” Mommy picked up the small cage. “Angie, Albert needs our help. We have to find him before he hurts himself.”
Angie surprised herself by not crying. “That’s right. I have to help Albert,” she said stoutly.
While Mommy went to get a flashlight, Angie stood in the middle of her room and looked around. Albert wasn’t anywhere that she could see. She didn’t want to look anywhere she couldn’t see from the middle of the room, for fear that the monsters would get her. It was dark in the corner by the bookcase and behind the rocking chair and under the bed. They were good hiding places for Albert or monsters.
But Albert wouldn’t go where monsters were, Angie reasoned, so she looked in places she thought a hamster would like. The shoe bag that hung on her closet door had twelve pockets for shoes, and Angie searched each one carefully. Albert wasn’t there.
She looked in every room of her dollhouse and inside the pencil box on her bookcase. The flowered bedspread was smooth; it showed no small lump the size of a hamster. Albert wasn’t anywhere. My room is too neat, thought Angie. If this were my friend Susie’s room, there would be lots more places to look.
When Mommy came back with the flashlight, they searched together without talking. Angie thought it very brave of Mommy to shine her light into all the corners and behind the bookcase. She held her breath, expecting to see the monsters she just knew were hiding there, but there was only dust and a pencil Angie had lost.
Finally, Mommy said, “See if he’s under the bed, will you, dear?” She handed the flashlight to Angie.
Angie peeked under the bed. “Albert isn’t there,” she reported quickly.
“Angela Mallory, you barely looked,” said her mommy in surprise. “Now take this flashlight and look under that bed and really make sure that he’s not there. I’ll go look in the linen closet.”
Mommy left, and Angie made herself walk over to the bed again. She got down on her knees and laid the flashlight on the carpet. Slowly she put her head and shoulders under the bed and turned on the flashlight. Her heart thumped very loudly. She knew what she would see: wrinkled monster faces with mean eyes and nasty smiles, and long bumpy fingers waiting to pull her toes.
In the moment it took her to think all these things, Angie had another thought: Albert! If I’m so scared, how must Albert feel? He’s so little! She just had to find Albert before the monsters hurt him.
Trembling, she moved the flashlight beam back and forth under the bed. She saw eyes. “Monsters,” she gulped.
She forced herself to shine the light straight at the bright yellow eyes that stared at her. Angie held her breath as the flashlight caught and held the tiny figure in its glare.
It was Albert, and he was all alone!
“Mommy, Mommy, come here!” she called.
Quickly Angie got up and moved the bed away from the wall. She picked Albert up very carefully and smoothed his fur, talking to him quietly as she carried him back to his cage. Albert chittered and squeaked, scolding her the whole time. Gently she put him into the cage on a pile of wood shavings and shut the little door tight. This time he wouldn’t get out!
“Did you find him?” Mommy hurried back into Angie’s room.
“Albert was under my bed. And you know what? There weren’t any monsters there. I guess there never were, or Albert wouldn’t have hidden there.”
Angie sighed happily as Mommy gave her a hug and they watched Albert play on his wheel. “Good night, Albert,” Angie said softly. “Thank you for showing me that I really don’t have monsters under my bed.”

Photograph courtesy of Cari Florence
When I was just 14 weeks pregnant with our third child, doctors informed us that the baby would miscarry due to complications with his lungs. That news was devastating: I felt heartbroken, terrified, and uncertain of the future. That evening, my husband and I went to the temple with heavy hearts and eyes full of tears. We needed answers, guidance, and strength, and we knew that in the serenity of the temple we could draw close to the Lord. We were astonished at the peace we felt in the celestial room. I knew that even if this baby was not supposed to stay on earth, all would be made right.
Later, on my knees I poured out my soul to Heavenly Father. I told Him I understood that our son wasn’t supposed to linger but that I desired some specific blessings, if possible. I also promised that if my desires weren’t granted, I would not lose faith. I asked that this child might stay with me longer—that he might live, even just a short while, until all our family could hold him. The doctors had said that if by some miracle our baby went full term, he would be born purple, but I prayed that he would be born pink so that our other little boys wouldn’t be afraid to hold their brother. I asked the Lord to let us remember our eternal bond after the baby, whom we decided to name Brycen, was gone.
As the weeks went on, doctors professed shock at baby Brycen’s progression but warned of his certain passing after birth. I felt indescribable heartache, knowing that we would lose him, yet I was also ecstatic that he was still growing. Carrying this son who would not live was a continuous burden; I felt pain whenever others asked about our baby’s gender or due date and I had to pretend that everything was normal. We bought a monitor so we could check his heartbeat daily, always anxious to hear that precious sound. My grief was severe. The Savior’s Atonement gained new meaning for me: I finally understood from experience that Jesus Christ not only suffered for my sins but also felt every sadness, every pain. As my Savior, He truly carried the weight with me so I would never be alone.
At 37 weeks I checked into the hospital, knowing I was officially starting the time clock on Brycen’s life. It was both terrifying and beautiful. The doctors reported that he might live anywhere from 10 minutes to several days. Despite my fears, I felt the Lord’s reassurance. Brycen Cade Florence was born on January 27, 2012. I sobbed the moment he was born—pink, so handsome, so perfect.
Our boys rushed into the room to see and hold their brother; we brought a photographer to capture the moment. Brycen lived only 72 minutes, literally just long enough for each of us to hold and love him. It was the only time we were all together as a family on this earth, but it was everything we had dreamed. The boys couldn’t get enough of their brother, kissing him, singing him songs, and begging to hold him. He even remained long enough to receive a blessing from his father, something my husband had hoped and prayed for.
As a family we have a testimony that “the divine plan of happiness enables family relationships to be perpetuated beyond the grave” and that temple ordinances and covenants allow “families to be united eternally” (“The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Liahona, Nov. 2010, 129). To us, having an eternal family is everything. The most beautiful part of the gospel is that death will never separate us; we will continue our journeys together.
Through this trial, I have come to know that God is in the details. He cares about us individually. While trials and difficulties will come, God can make them easier to bear. I am now more grateful than ever for my temple sealing to my husband and that our children were born in the covenant. Because of God’s beautiful plan for our families, including the Savior’s infinite sacrifice, we can be together again. I often wonder how I would have withstood this difficult trial without knowing that eternal truth. I am beyond grateful for the testimony I have gained because of Brycen’s short life—God has opened my eyes and heart more fully to His blessings.

by Kim R. Burningham
When the teenagers of the Bountiful 29th Ward speak of their grandparents, the listener could get confused. True, they might be referring to their mother’s parents or their father’s parents, but they might also be talking about their “adopted” grandparents.
The bishopric youth committee of the ward decided to embark on what has turned out to be an exciting service project. Near the ward are two care centers where a large number of aging patients reside. Some of the patients have no family, or if they do, the family lives some distance away from the care center and is unable to visit often. It was decided that if every young person in the ward were to adopt one of the patients as a “grandparent,” the young people could provide some much-needed companionship for the lonely patients.
Youth in the ward try to visit their “grandparents” at least once a week. Sometimes they play chess with them or read to them. Often they just talk. The grandparents love to reminisce, and they are happy for the new friends. When Kim Bailey and Julie Bradford were visiting with Billy, a semiretarded patient at the care center, he looked up at them and said simply, “Do you mind if I like you?” Julie and Kim found that it was easy to be friends.
Members of the Beehive class and several of the other girls have quilted lap blankets for their grandparents. Shelley Moss took the quilt to her grandmother for a Christmas present. “When she received it we all cried, and it made the whole adopt-a-grandparent program worthwhile. Now every time I go to Della, my quilt is folded nicely on the edge of the bed.”
Kathleen Kirkham, president of the Mia Maid class, explained that “many of our class members are at the point where they don’t have to go to visit their grandparents, but they want to go.”
Tuevo Jones, a priest, said that “although it may seem a bit of a bother, I always walk out of the care center with a better feeling than when I went in.”

For me, parenthood has been a refiner’s fire. My weaknesses seem to come out as I become stressed, sleep deprived, worried, or upset. Of course, parenthood’s blessings make up for those moments, but I have found that I have a temper. It’s humiliating to admit, but I used to yell or throw things to get my children’s attention.
I would resolve time and again not to lose my temper, but I would still lose it in times of stress. Heavenly Father knew I needed something dramatic to help me.
One evening after a long day of bottling peaches, I put on the last batch and decided to take a short nap. I was sure I would wake up in time to take the bottles from the steamer.
I didn’t.
My husband, Quinn, and I were startled awake by the sound of exploding jars. I ran to the kitchen and saw shattered glass and gluey peaches over every surface of the room. Apparently, the steamer water had evaporated, heat and pressure had built up, the top of the steamer had blown off, and six of seven peach jars had exploded.
“I think I’ll clean this up in the morning,” I said.
Bad idea.
By morning the hot peach muck had solidified into hardened, glass-filled mounds all over the kitchen and dining room. The plastered peach-glass tidbits had even found their way behind countertop appliances and into every nook and cranny, including behind the fridge.
Cleanup took several hours. I had to soak the glass-filled mounds with wet paper towels and then try to wipe them up without cutting myself.
As I cleaned, a familiar voice whispered to me: “Mary, when your temper explodes, as did these jars, you cannot easily fix things. You cannot see where and how your anger hurts your children and others. Like this mess, that hurt hardens quickly and is painful.”
Suddenly, the cleanup took on new meaning. The lesson was a powerful one. Like my anger, there was no quick cleanup. Weeks later I was still finding little clumps of peach rock embedded with glass.
I pray that someday my patience will become as great a strength as it was a weakness. Meanwhile, I am grateful that the Lord’s Atonement is helping me better control my temper so that I can spare my loved ones any more messes caused by exploding anger.

When you’re six-foot-seven and tower over all your high-school friends, it’s easy to be noticed. When you’re marching in a band, pounding on drums, you tend to attract a fair amount of attention. When you’re one of only a few members of the Church in your entire school, you stand out even more. Such is the lot of Ryan Mortimer of the Kettle Moraine Ward in the Milwaukee Wisconsin South Stake, or Mort as his friends call him—a moniker that has morphed into Mort the Mormon to most of his classmates. “Friends come up to me all the time with questions they have about the Church. They’ll say, ‘Hey, Mort, what’s this all about?’ Or ‘I saw some of your missionaries the other day,’ and I’ll say, ‘I’m going to be one of those guys in a couple years.’”
Most of the time Ryan likes being the guy with a reputation.
“At my high school people know how I’m going to act and how I’m not going to act, what I’m going to say and what I’m not going to say. They know because of a lot of repetition. You have to keep doing the same things over and over again. You have to watch your language, watch the jokes you tell, you have to act a certain way and present yourself in the way an LDS person would present themselves, and you have to keep doing it over a period of years. It’s nice to know I’ve kept that reputation.”
But sometimes the pressure of always being the example—of always being the “good” guy, especially when there are those around you trying to make you slip up, can become overwhelming. That’s what happened to Ryan when he was traveling with his marching band. “Sometimes I get made fun of a lot because I don’t swear or tell dirty jokes. I’ve actually had people say they were going to get me to crack before the end of the band season.”
At one point about two years ago during an extended band competition, the harassment got so bad that Ryan reached a breaking point. “I was crying on the bus. I just couldn’t handle it anymore. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to go home.” When the bus arrived back at the school where the band was staying, Ryan told a friend he was going for a walk and left to find a quiet place to pray.
“I found this spot behind the school, and when I knelt down and started to pray, I broke down. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. I just didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to get through this. I must have prayed for a good 30 minutes where I was literally pouring out my soul. It was really the first night where I felt as if Heavenly Father was near to me. When I felt that, I’ve never felt so much at peace in my life, and I knew right then that I would get through this.
“Before I prayed I was like, ‘I can’t take it,’ and afterward it was one of the most calm and peaceful feelings I’ve ever felt. Then there were tears of joy and tears of happiness. What I felt was truly the gift of the Holy Ghost helping me get through what I was going through.”
Ryan says that as he felt the loving presence of his Father in Heaven, everything changed. Ryan had felt alone and insignificant; now he felt loved and empowered. “I’m a son of God,” Ryan said to himself. “I’m a priesthood holder—a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. That night I really felt like I was someone important to my Heavenly Father.”
“The interesting thing about that is that same night one of the girls who I never would have thought would be interested in the Church came up to me and said, ‘How can you handle that?’” She told Ryan she had noticed that he was different and asked what it was that made him act the way he did. They ended up talking about the Church for two hours, with Ryan sharing scriptures and his testimony with her.
The very next day, the band was traveling on a small ship on Lake Michigan. Ryan was in the “quiet” room reading Jesus the Christ, cross-referencing passages with his scriptures, when one of the band directors came in carrying his own Bible. “We talked for about three hours about the differences in our religions and about the Book of Mormon,” says Ryan. “I bore my testimony to him and talked about Joseph Smith’s First Vision.” After those three hours, Ryan’s director said, “I’m very surprised at how well you know your church and your faith. It’s nice to see a 17-year-old with such a testimony of his church.”
The competition circuit continued for another week, and those who had been badgering Ryan stopped. He’d weathered the storm, his testimony now strengthened, his reputation intact. Plus he’d had a few opportunities to share the gospel with others.
One of Ryan’s favorite scriptures is Romans 1:16, which reads, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.”
“The reason it’s one of my favorite scriptures,” says Ryan, “is because I’m not ashamed to say who I am, I am not ashamed to be who I am, and I’m not ashamed to say what I know.”
So that’s how it is to be known as Mort the Mormon. Ryan has spent years being an example of the believers and gaining the respect of his bandmates and classmates. He likes knowing that his friends know what he stands for and why he acts the way he does. It’s not always easy being the one who’s noticed when everyone’s expectations are so high. But that’s just who Ryan is: he’s a big guy, and he’s tall enough to stand that high.

Vitaly: Katya and I were married in Omsk on February 25, 2006. (The laws of Russia require a civil marriage prior to a temple sealing, as many countries do.) The next morning we set off on a trip to the Stockholm Sweden Temple. We boarded an airplane in Omsk and flew three hours to Moscow, where we spent the rest of the day. Then we took an overnight train to Saint Petersburg. Once there we got on a bus with other Latter-day Saints and traveled for eight hours to Helsinki, Finland. The last leg of our journey was an 11-hour ferry ride to Stockholm.
Finally, we had reached the temple.
For some, such a long trip may seem like a challenge, but in many ways, our trip across Europe made a great honeymoon.
The day of our sealing, March 1, 2006, was a great day—a day of peace and assurance. I knew that the person whose hand I was holding was the one I’d share eternity with. This thought alone filled me with great joy and gratitude to Heavenly Father for trusting me with His daughter for my wife. I felt closer to Him than ever before.

Peter Miller of Bozeman, Montana, was selected to receive an International Youth Year Award from the U.S. Secretary of Education. The awards focus attention on young Americans whose deeds and actions exemplify exceptional character and citizenship.
Peter was nominated and selected for his efforts in raising money for African famine victims by organizing a musical concert held in a Bozeman city park. The event featured 24 musical acts performed by students of Bozeman Senior High School.
Peter served as first assistant in his priests quorum.

“Congratulations, Marcus,” Mom said on the way to the car. “You pitched a great game!”
“Last April, when you pitched your first game,” Dad asked as we started home, “did you think you’d be pitching in the regional finals?”
“I guess I dreamed about it some,” I answered honestly, “but I really thought that Gary and the Pirates would end up going again.”
Dad, Mom, and I relived the game, especially that last inning with a guy on third, one on first, and Gary up to bat. The Pirates were down by two runs, but Gary had already hit one homer that day, and everybody on the Pirate bench was counting on him to hit a second one. That would have put them up by one and sent them to the regional games. But Gary struck out. Then Willie popped up, and I snagged the ball to end the game.
“Oh, before I forget, Marcus,” Mom told me, “Sister Anderson called this afternoon and wants you to give a talk in Primary a week from Sunday.”
Talking in Primary wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but this time I knew immediately what to talk about. “I think I’ll talk about Little League.”
Mom turned around to look at me, and Dad glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “This is Primary, you know,” Mom pointed out, “not another baseball game.”
I grinned. “I know, Mom. I’m not going to talk about the game of baseball.” I explained, “You see, Heavenly Father has really helped me this season. Even though I’m the only Church member on the team and it hasn’t been easy, I’ve tried hard to do what’s right, and He’s helped me.” I went on quietly, “I could feel Him helping me out there this afternoon. I wasn’t nervous, even when Gary came to the plate. I said a little prayer, asking the Lord to help me do my best. Even before I threw that first pitch, I knew everything was going to be all right. That’s what I want to talk about in Primary—how the Lord can bless us when we work hard and choose the right.”

Now to the second lesson. Remember! The iron rod brings safe passage through the wilderness. Grasp it! Once again, as I wander the corridors of memory, another wilderness experience from my Ranger training days emerges. Three weeks of the training were conducted in the Blue Ridge Mountains of north Georgia-also a wilderness, by the way! In addition to honing our patrolling and combat skills at the Mountain Ranger Camp, we learned to scale steep cliffs and then to rappel down them. The mountain phase of my training occurred in the winter. Snow was on the ground and slick black ice covered much of the face of these cliffs we were ascending and descending. It was treacherous, and some Rangers fell and were seriously hurt.

Each of us chose a "Ranger buddy"-another Ranger with whom we went through the training. One day, my Ranger buddy and I were ordered to scale a steep cliff in a "two-man party climb." In a two-man party climb, one man climbs while the other "belays" for him with a safety line. Then the first man belays while his partner climbs past him to a further place up the cliff, and so on as the team leapfrogs its way to the top.

So, naturally, on this fateful day we searched along the base of the cliff for what looked like the easiest way up. We found a spot where the cliff did not appear to be nearly as steep. For the first 25 feet or so it was only about a 45-degree angle. While we couldn't see beyond that point, it still looked like the easiest way up the cliff.

My buddy went first while I belayed for him. Climbing up the 45-degree slope, he disappeared around a corner of the rock wall. Finally, a tug on the rope was my signal to climb up to his location and then past him. When I reached his location and looked up, I was stunned to see that, from where we were, the wall shot straight up into the air and then curved back overhead in a rocky overhang. It was now my task to scale the sheer face of the wall and then to somehow climb up that overhang using rope stirrups that I fastened into the wall with steel pitons, or rock-climbing nails.

I still have vivid memories of dangling from that rocky overhang with one foot in a rope stirrup, looking down from the dizzying height of 100 feet at the ground below, while I attempted to fix another rope stirrup further up the rock face. Exhausted, I finally made it over the edge of the cliff at the top and assisted my partner as he climbed up to where I was.

This cliff-climbing experience has become something of a parable in my life about the foolishness of trying to find the easy way out of things.

Another way to learn about leadership is to choose good friends. “The best way to learn to be a good leader is to make sure you’re following the right crowd. Then you can step up and be a good leader, listen to them, and invite people to activities,” says Brad Smidt, 17, of the First Ward, Coeur d’Alene Stake. Kiyana Dickson, 18, of the Cheney First Ward, Spokane West Stake, remembers a successful activity in her stake where this principle was illustrated. “One of the best activities we had was a summer social when a lot of inactive and nonmember friends came because other people invited them to have fun with us. Now I talk to those kids all the time, and they smile more often. They go to activities and know how much fun they are.”

On several occasions different mothers have recounted a similar story to me. They were all survivors of sexual abuse. Forgiveness was a struggle for each of them. Then someone in their family was accused of abusing another—usually the accused was one of their children. Can you imagine what happens to a mother’s insides when her child is so accused, especially when she has personally suffered at the hands of a similar transgressor? Yet all of these women have told me that eventually they were able to see their own transgressors in a new light—children of God who had made a terrible mistake but who someday may repent and receive God’s forgiveness. Such transformation had allowed them to sacrifice fantasies of revenge and turn judgment over to God. They permitted Christ’s blood to surround their pain and cleanse their hearts with peace.

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.
As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”
He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”
Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

The Crittenden family of the 18th North Ward, Eagle Gate Stake, in the heart of Salt Lake City, work hard. That’s all there is to it. But you never hear them complain. In fact, they’re often right there volunteering, doing a number of things that most people don’t hear about.

They work hard outside of church too. Fourteen-year-old David has a paper route and is looking forward to the time he’ll be old enough to start at McDonald’s. Seventeen-year-old Lisa is in demand as a baby-sitter, has worked at a department store, and takes on various other jobs in the summer. Their mother Judy works as a secretary at an elementary school, also works in the department store, and helps David with his paper route.

Lisa and David’s parents were divorced about 11 years ago. But you won’t hear them complain about that, either. “We were so young when the divorce happened that we don’t really remember what it’s like to have a dad around all the time,” says Lisa.

Among the things they do have that bring them together as a family are their pets. There are three terrier poodles and a cat to care for, and they love it. When one dog had puppies, the family helped and watched in awe.

The Church brings them close, too. You can often find Lisa helping her mother, the ward greeter, at the chapel door, handing out programs. David is usually one of the first to volunteer to pass the sacrament, and the family is very supportive of Lisa in her duties as first counselor in the Laurel presidency and as devotional counselor in seminary. Also, the time they spend praying and reading the scriptures together is a real unifier.

Of course this is not a fairy tale family. They have their fair share of spats. David felt like he had to work forever to pay Lisa back for her Walkman that got broken when he borrowed it. And Lisa and her mother are not always in agreement about who uses the car and when.

But those kinds of things are inevitable. Every family has disputes—it goes with the territory. But so can love and unity and support. They can be there if you work for them. And working hard in one area can teach you to work hard in the others. The Crittendens know that with the Lord’s help they can work their way through anything that comes along.

A true story from the USA.
“What’s this, Mom?” Sadie pulled a big tin can out of the back of the cupboard. “It has no label on it.”
“I forgot about that,” Mom said. “The labels had come off some canned goods, so the store was selling them for cheap. I bought one. I figured it was probably canned peas.”
Sadie made a face. Canned peas were not her favorite.
Mom picked up the can and turned it over. “They’ll go bad soon. We’d better eat them today.” She put the can on the table.
“What’s that?” Sadie’s big brother, Jason, asked.
“Who knows?” Sadie said. “Mom thinks it’s peas.”
Jason shook the can. “Doesn’t sound like peas. My guess is beans.”
That gave Sadie an idea. She grabbed some tape and a marker and wrote “peas” on one piece of paper and “beans” on another. She taped them to the can.
Then she thought for a minute and wrote “tomato sauce” on another piece.
Just then Dad came into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“We’re playing a game,” Mom said. “Guess what’s in the can.”
Dad picked up the can, shook it hard, and gave it a sniff. “Mushrooms!” he announced.
Everyone groaned. “Not mushrooms!” Sadie said. That was worse than peas, beans, and tomato sauce. “Maybe we should just throw the can away.”
“Aren’t you curious to know what’s really inside?” asked Mom.
Dad grabbed the can opener. “I am!”
As Dad opened the can, Sadie covered her eyes. But when he pulled back the lid, she was surprised. The can was full of delicious fruit.
“Yummy!” she said as she looked at the cut-up pears, grapes, cherries, and peaches.
Jason brought over bowls and spoons. “Let’s eat!”
Sadie spooned some fruit from the can into her bowl. “I can’t believe we were all wrong,” she said. “I was sure there was something yucky inside.”
“Do we ever label people like that?” asked Mom.
“What do you mean?” Sadie asked.
Dad set his bowl on the table. “We decide what they are like on the inside, when all we can see is the outside.”
Sadie thought about that. “When Samara was new at school, I thought she wasn’t friendly. But then I learned she just couldn’t speak our language very well. Now we play all the time!”
“That’s a good example,” said Mom.
“Sometimes I feel labeled,” Jason said softly. “Kids at school say I only get good grades because the teacher likes me. But the truth is, I work hard and do all my homework.”
“Labels can hurt, can’t they?” said Dad.
Jason nodded.
Sadie finished her last bite of fruit. “But are all labels bad? At the store you need to know what you’re actually buying.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “So when are labels good?”
Jason held up his spoon. “When they’re true!”
“And who knows what’s truly inside a person?” asked Mom.
“Heavenly Father,” Sadie and Jason said together.
“I get it!” Sadie said. “I am a child of God. That’s the right label for me.”
“And me,” said Jason.
“And me!” said Dad.
“For everyone.” Mom smiled. “So we shouldn’t label people based on what we see on the outside, or believe false labels given to us. Because only God knows what we truly are inside.”
Sadie wrote on a new piece of tape and stuck it on her sweater. “A child of God,” she said. Sadie smiled. She liked that label best of all.