Gospel Story Finder

Instead, I joined a neighborhood team with lots of friends. We had a great time the first year and were successful, but the second year the team struggled and sometimes lost focus on the game. I became frustrated. I put my best effort into every game, but we almost always lost.
After one very bad game, Coach Hashem, whose team was doing well, approached me on the soccer field. He asked me how things were going. I said, “Not so good.” I told him I missed my old teammates. Hashem coached with a great deal of skill and always seemed to get the most from his players.
“How would you like to be a guest player for our team when we go to the next tournament?” Hashem asked.
“I would really like that!” I responded excitedly.
“Great!” Hashem said, smiling. “I need to ask you one question though. Can you play on Sundays?” My stomach muscles tightened. I suddenly felt sick. I remembered what had happened that last time this question had been asked.
I looked at my mom. I looked at my dad. They too waited for my answer. I looked at Hashem.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t play on Sundays,” I said. “Will that make a difference?”
Hashem stood there for a moment. He had seen the expression of hope on my face fade quickly as I had answered his question.
“No, that’s OK,” Hashem responded. “We probably won’t get to the Sunday finals. We’d love to have you play with us.”
Soon I started practicing with Hashem’s team. The team played with a great deal of intensity, and they welcomed me back. I loved playing with them.
We didn’t win all of our games at the tournament, but we all tried our hardest, and we had a good time. Soon I became a permanent member of Hashem’s team. Though they knew I didn’t play on Sundays, they still appreciated me for what I added to the team on the other game days.

During the Second World War he served as a Company Sergeant Major (CSM) in the Durham Light Infantry (DLI). Brother Diston is remembered for his extraordinary bravery and leadership, particularly during the Battle of the Mereth Line near Wadi Zigzaou, Tunisia, on the 21st of March 1943.
During this battle, Ralph was ordered to capture a redoubt (a fortification). He led his men through intense combat, showing a complete disregard for danger and demonstrated ‘magnificent leadership’. His actions included leading assaults on enemy fortified positions, clearing trenches, and rallying his men under heavy fire. After capturing the redoubt they secured 120 Italian prisoners. His courage and determination were instrumental in the DLI’s success, and he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal, with commendations from General Bernard Montgomery.

Some years ago I heard a story about a young high school football quarterback. Just before the final game of the year his father died, and the coach said to him, “Now, Bill, we don’t expect you to be at the game Friday. You be with your family and we will get along all right. You don’t need to come to the rehearsals.”

But the boy said, “No, I want to play; and I will be able to play.”

The coach did not understand it, but he thought the boy seemed to know what he was doing, so he said, “Okay, if that’s the way you feel, we’ll let you start and see how you get along.”

The boy went into the game and threw the passes, ran the ends, kicked the punts, blocked the tackles, and generaled his team like Superman. The coach could not understand it; he had never played so well before. They won an overwhelming victory; and after the game was over, as they walked off the field, the coach put his arm around this boy and said, “Bill, would you like to tell me about it? How is it that you could do these things under these circumstances?”

This boy replied, “Coach, what you may not know about this situation is that my father was blind, and this is the first game that he has ever seen me play.”

Jon Hays, 18, lives and works on an isolated army post in California surrounded by hundreds of square miles of windblown, sun-scoured terrain. Gnarled oaks dot the hills occasionally, and in the summer long tufts of dry, yellow grass wave across the dusty fields. During the spring rains the earth turns to a mud so thick that army tanks get stuck in the ooze. It’s hard to get them out.
Jon joined the army after high school. He’s the only known Mormon on the post out of three thousand men. When the barracks become too noisy or raucous for him, he sometimes slips outside to walk in the hills. “To be alone and think, you need to leave the barracks,” he said. “I like to walk out by the cattle and deer and to watch the hawks fly.
“I really like being in the military, but as far as the Church goes, it’s been rough. I never knew before what it is like being faced with grown-up temptations. The guys started teasing me, and I thought, well, it wouldn’t hurt to give in a little bit. And once you do that, you give in a little bit more. I want to get around Church members again. And I want to get active in the Church again,” said Jon.

Photographs by Leslie Nilsson
From a young age, I really looked forward to going to the university. The university would allow me to get a good education and eventually lead me to a stable job that would enable me to raise a family.
But when I reached university age, I was not sure how I could afford to go. The resources available to me were not sufficient. My dad had passed away the previous year, and my sister and I had moved in with my uncle. At that time, our uncle did not have sufficient material resources to help me because he was helping five of his own children at the university.
From a young age, I also desired to serve God in one capacity or another, but I did not know how. Before I joined the Church at age 19, I had no opportunity to do that.
When I joined the Church in 2004, I still wanted to pursue my university education, but I made the decision to serve a mission first. I still did not know how I was going to achieve my dreams and goals of a university education after my mission, but I exercised faith that things would eventually work out for me. I said to myself, “I will trust the Lord. I will serve Him first. Other things will follow later.” So, I went forward in faith and began doing service to help pay for my mission.
Some of my friends told me I was going to waste my time as a missionary. But I had faith that a mission was the right thing to do, that serving the Lord was not a waste of time.
One of the scriptures that inspired me to serve is found in the New Testament: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
I was soon called to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. My mission provided me with memorable experiences and laid the foundation for future opportunities and responsibilities. After my mission, I was better prepared for my schooling, employment, and various callings in the Church, including as a bishop.
When I came home, some of my cousins had finished their education. My good uncle then had resources available to help me pursue my university education. I did a certified public accounting course and then enrolled in a bachelor’s degree program. Five years after my mission, I graduated in accounting and finance.
Truly, as I have seen in my life after my mission, the Lord has added “all these things” to my family. Before my mission, I was concerned that if I didn’t go to school, if I didn’t get a good education, I would live in poverty. But the Lord has blessed my family beyond measure and enabled us to live a relatively comfortable life.
I have never regretted serving a mission before going to the university. Showing faith to serve a mission was the foundation of many decisions I have made in my life. Serving the Lord helped me build my faith on a sure foundation. That foundation has helped me make right decisions when I have faced tough choices.
For those uneasy about serving a mission, I would give the same advice I received from the scriptures: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness,” and all these things that you think will not come to you will eventually come according to the will of God—even tenfold. That’s my experience.

During recess I was standing in the middle of a group of kids my age when one of the girls started swearing. Another boy soon joined in, and I felt very uncomfortable. I knew Heavenly Father would not want us to use these words. I asked them to stop swearing, but they continued to use bad language. I decided to walk away so they knew I wasn’t going to participate. I was sad they didn’t listen, but I knew I had stood up for what I believed in. I knew that Heavenly Father was happy too.
Caleb B., age 12, Utah, USA

I want to tell you two personal stories to illustrate this process of discovery. The first goes all the way back to the fall of 1974, when I entered graduate school at Harvard. I was full of hope and ambition and energy and dreams, just as you are today. I was married, and already the father of a six-month-old daughter.

I had studied economics and political science as an undergraduate at Utah State University, had completed a master's in economics there, and still wanted more. But unlike most of those who seek the Ph.D., I had no desire for a career in academic research and teaching, or at least I didn't think I did. Consequently, I really did not know what I was going to do when I finished graduate school.

Sometime during my last year at Utah State, I was invited to appear as a panelist on a television program broadcast by KUED, Channel 7, in Salt Lake City. The theme of the program was "University Governance," and I was the token student member of the panel, having served as the editor of my college newspaper. Can you imagine an entire program being devoted to that topic-- university governance? One thing I can say with confidence: the programming on KUED has improved dramatically in the last thirty-seven years!

Well, anyway, we had an interesting, and (other than myself), a distinguished panel. The discussants included the provost of the University of Utah, the chairman of the state Board of Regents, and the state senator most responsible for funding higher education. A story the state senator told about growing up on an arid farm in southern Utah, and building a dam for irrigation, is the only thing I can remember about the panel's discussion.

He told of how his father would wake him up early in the morning, before it was light, to go outside to hitch up the horses. He would then drive the team out to work on the dam that they were building, so that they could have water to irrigate the alfalfa. Of course they were growing the alfalfa, so that they would have hay to feed the horses! This was a cycle that as a young farm boy he could not understand. He wondered why not just shoot the horses and sleep in!

I think this anecdote left such an impression on me because at the time I heard it I was struggling with a similar cycle that left me just as puzzled: the struggle to decide which graduate education to pursue and what career path to follow. For although I was excited to pursue Ph.D. studies, I could not connect that study to a career I was interested in. I could not understand why anyone would study hard to get good grades to get into graduate school, if the only purpose was to then study hard to get good grades to get a teaching position somewhere. Where, of course, one would then force some other poor soul to study hard to get good grades to get into graduate school! Like the state senator and the horses, I wondered why not just burn the books and sleep in! The answer to that riddle came about by accident. Two years into my graduate study at Harvard, I was working as a janitor to help support my family. One day I had a conversation with a classmate, Kim Clark, who is now president of BYU-Idaho. We discussed the work we were doing to make ends meet. Like me, Kim was supporting a wife and a young child. He told me that he had a job as a teaching fellow in the economics department, and that he taught the first year course in economics to Harvard College undergraduates. "Do they pay you for that?" I asked. "Sure," he said. In fact, it paid better than my janitor's job. So I asked him if he thought the economics department might use another teaching fellow. Kim graciously agreed to arrange an interview for me with the head teaching fellow, and I was given the job.

I will always be grateful to Kim for that kindness. In addition to improving our family's standard of living, that job opened the door to my career. I discovered the joy of teaching, and that teaching was the best way for me to learn. In fact, I found out that I could learn more about economics by teaching Harvard College undergraduates than I did from sitting in the lectures of my Nobel Prize-winning professors of economic theory. I became passionate about teaching because it enabled me to learn, and I was passionate about learning. I wasn't that good at it at first. But because I enjoyed teaching economics, I got better at it.

This insight: that I could learn most effectively by teaching others, and that I could become good at it because I enjoyed it: was an accident. I made this discovery in the process of simply trying to find a better way to support my family.

When we respect the confidences granted us, our friends can speak of their inner feelings or reach out for help. Marie and Heather shared this kind of trust. Heather had four children and demanding home responsibilities. Marie was often prompted by the Spirit to call just when Heather needed to confide. Heather said, “I couldn’t hide my feelings from her question, ‘How are you doing?’ I’d cry and explain, and she would listen, and I’d feel better. I knew my words would go no further. I thank the Lord for Marie.”

As we cleaned I told Sister Wong about Topie. I told her about how I had sold him because we couldn’t afford to take him to California. I also told her about how I had earned the money to buy him two years ago when he was just a foal. I explained the voice commands I had taught him before he was old enough to be broken. I told her of the endless hours walking with him when he was sick with colic, and how he trembled when I put salve on his wounds after he tore himself on barbed wire.
I explained how hard it had been to pay my tithing when I was responsible for my horse financially. Yet somehow it had always worked out. The baby-sitting jobs had come, and I was able to keep the promise I had made to Mom and Dad that my horse wouldn’t burden the family financially. Now I had decided to sell my horse. I had decided to sell my beautiful friend rather than beg and cry to my parents and break my promise.

It is instructive that the second Latter-day Saint connection with the Titanic did not have a happy mortal ending. Irene Corbett was 30 years old. She was a young wife and mother from Provo, Utah. She had significant talents as an artist and musician; she was also a teacher and a nurse. At the urging of medical professionals in Provo, she attended a six-month course of study on midwife skills in London. It was her great desire to make a difference in the world. She was careful, thoughtful, prayerful, and valiant. One of the reasons she chose the Titanic to return to the United States was because she thought the missionaries would be traveling with her and that this would provide additional safety. Irene was one of the few women who did not survive this terrible tragedy. Most of the women and children were placed in the lifeboats and were ultimately rescued. There were not enough lifeboats for everyone. But it is believed that she did not get in the lifeboats because, with her special training, she was attending to the needs of the numerous passengers who were injured from the iceberg collision.19

I was really touched by the second one I watched: “Dare to Stand Alone,” with a story from President Thomas S. Monson.
In this short clip, President Monson described his experience at Navy boot camp. On his first Sunday afternoon there, the chief petty officer directed them where to attend their churches. He sent the Catholics to one building, the Jews to another, and the Protestants to yet another. President Monson didn’t know where to go, since he was not any of those religions, so he just stood his ground feeling completely alone. “Courageous and determined, yes—but alone,” he said.
The officer came up to him and asked, “And just what do you guys call yourselves?” It wasn’t until then that President Monson realized there were other men behind him. Almost in unison they said, “Mormons, sir!”

For example, for years, my mother made sack lunches for myself and my five sisters. I’m not sure that she ever saw this as a sacred act; I doubt that the five thousandth sandwich made a lasting impression. But as I have looked back on my childhood, I recognize this as a consistent sacrifice in that my mother was taking a daily ordinary action that she made sacred by trying to make each day a little better for her children. And now, I have tried to carry on that tradition by preparing lunches for my own children.

When Joseph Smith was a young man, Josiah Stoal offered him a job.
We’ll be working in Pennsylvania. I’ll pay you, and we’ll stay with Isaac Hale’s family.
Isaac had a daughter named Emma. She and Joseph enjoyed each other’s company.
Soon they fell in love.
When the work was done, Josiah and Joseph returned home.
I can’t stop thinking about Emma.
What do you plan to do?
After discussing the matter with his parents, Joseph returned to Pennsylvania and proposed.
After Joseph and Emma married, they moved in with Joseph’s family.
Welcome to our home, Emma!
Thank you, Mother Smith. I’m so happy to be here.

Third, testify of holy truths as often as you can. The Comforter always shares His voice when we testify with our voice. The Spirit bears witness to the speaker and listener alike.

I remember once taking a 45-minute taxi ride in New York City. Having had a warm gospel conversation with the driver for the duration of my ride to the airport, I paid her and prepared to exit the taxi. Then I realized I had not offered a testimony of what I had shared. Pausing, I shared a simple, short testimony, inviting the Spirit and bringing tears to both our eyes.

Illustration by Greg Newbold
After my classes finished in the late afternoon, I stopped by a tiny antique store just before I made my way home—an errand I wanted to finish despite the increased intensity of the rain. I was the only person in the store, and the woman working there helped me with the lamp I’d had my eye on.
As she opened a shopping bag, I noticed a display of brightly colored bracelets on the counter. I reached for one just as she placed the lamp into the bag. She brushed the display, and about half the bracelets clattered to the floor. She looked a little flustered but finished ringing up my purchase. I left the store, umbrella in one hand, bag with a lamp in it in the other.
I walked home, took off my wet boots, and put on some music. As I took the lamp out, I noticed something at the bottom of the bag. It was a red bracelet. It must have fallen from the display into my bag. I smiled, thinking how much this moment was beginning to resemble a story from the old Young Women manual: “Then Valerie thought of the lesson they’d just had in Laurels class.”
I tossed the bracelet on my bed and plugged in my lamp. It created a warm glow in the gray afternoon. I looked out the window. It was raining even harder, and the snow on the ground was turning to dirty slush.
I looked at the bracelet. It was cherry red. I slipped it on my wrist. The price tag swung—$20. Of course I would return it. It never entered my mind not to. I pulled it off and put it on top of a pile of books I’d been meaning to put away. I walked into the other room to make a cup of hot chocolate.
Then I walked back in.
How long had I put off dealing with those books anyway? A while. How long would that bracelet be there if I put off taking it back?
My intention was to return it. But when would that be? Would I wait so long that I would feel awkward returning it? Would I forget about it?
I hesitated a little more. I looked out the window again. I thought about how my feet had just warmed up. I thought about my delicious hot chocolate.
Then I grabbed the bracelet, pulled my boots back on, and headed back out.
When I arrived at the store, the woman was helping someone else. I stood and waited. When she finished, I pulled the bracelet out of my coat pocket, explaining how it had come to be there. She looked sort of surprised, a little confused, said thank you, and that was it. She didn’t offer me a reward for my honesty. She wasn’t excessive in her thanks. And no one else was around to see it.
As I walked home, I thought about how I’d always considered myself an honest person. It is a quality I value and look for in others. But real honesty, like real love and real charity, is an active attribute. However honorable and true my intentions, I only became an honest person when I put those rain boots back on and acted on my intentions.
I felt my bare wrist inside my coat and smiled a little.

When I was eight years old our family moved to Salt Lake City from California. We lived on a new street where there were just a few houses. The Hathaway family, who had children near my age, lived in the house nearest to us.
One day the Hathaway children invited me to go to Primary with them, and Mother said I could.
Mrs. Hathaway wanted to ask Mother the “golden questions.” She decided to fast and pray and ask the Lord to help her know the right words to say to Mother. But when she came over to our house, the words just wouldn’t come out, and she went home very disappointed.
Nevertheless the Spirit began to work on Mother and a day or two later she asked Mrs. Hathaway what I was learning in Primary. Afterward she said she would like to know more about the Mormon Church. Mrs. Hathaway was happy to answer all of Mother’s questions and asked if our family would listen to the missionary lessons.
After listening to the missionaries, Mother and I were soon baptized.

The title of my talk, “The Messy Middle of Revelation,” was inspired by a conversation that I had in 2007. I was part of a team that hosted the national meeting for the Acoustical Society of America in Salt Lake City. A dozen of our colleagues had come from around the United States to plan the technical program and assign rooms to different events. After our long planning session, we took our guests to the Roof Restaurant, with its lovely view of the Salt Lake Temple. I’m sure dinner was amazing, but I remember this night so vividly because of the conversation I had with two of my colleagues on the walk back to the hotel.
As we were walking, one turned to me and asked, “Do you really believe what they say about Joseph Smith?”
I replied that I did—and still do—believe that, in the spring of 1820, Joseph Smith prayed to know which church to join. In answer to the humble prayer of this fourteen-year-old farm boy, God the Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, appeared and called Joseph to restore Christ’s Church to the earth. Joseph Smith was the first latter-day prophet.
I then explained that the Church of Jesus Christ has been led by prophets to this day. As members, we each have the responsibility to do as Joseph Smith did—to ask God and receive our own personal confirmation of what the prophet tells us.
His response surprised me. He said, “That sounds very disorganized.”
As I was wondering how to respond, our colleague from New Orleans, who had recently lived through the cleanup after Hurricane Katrina, emphatically said, “If there is one thing their Church is, it’s organized.”

The English seaside town of Blackpool may seem ordinary by day. But when its famous lights come on at night, its streets are transformed into a place of beauty.
Elder Jo Folkett may seem like an ordinary Englishman at first. But the light of the Spirit has transformed his life and is helping him lead others to the beauty of the gospel.
Elder Jolyon Soames Folkett is from the Glenfield Ward, Leicester Stake, England. The only paraplegic missionary in a wheelchair in the British Isles, Elder Folkett has overcome many obstacles to be where he is.
Early in his mission, Elder Folkett felt pride in his accomplishment of serving. “I used to think, ‘I’m pretty remarkable, coming on a mission like this,’” he said. “‘I had a good excuse not to come, but here I am.’”
Then, during an early-morning Book of Mormon study session, he read Mosiah 2:21–24. “It was about serving,” he says, smiling. “It says that even if we serve the Lord with all our souls, we’ll still be in his debt. It says that the Lord requires us to do all he commands, and not be proud—whatever our circumstance.
“That really humbled me. I thought, ‘I’m not so remarkable, am I? I’m only doing what’s required.’”
“Doing what’s required” has been Jo’s guideline for the last five years. Before that, his legs were the same as most people’s—active. Then came a blood clot in his spine. Only one in a million people ever suffer from this problem. Usually they are middle-aged, and they suffer brain damage—or death.
Jo survived, perfectly normal except for his legs.
Despite frequent hospitalization, he has become more and more cheerful. And as he has relied on priesthood blessings, he has developed a testimony that now makes him a powerful missionary.
Looking back, Jo has a clear picture of that critical moment in his life. “I was prepared, through promptings of the Spirit, for the information that my legs would always be paralysed,” he says. “So when the doctor solemnly said, ‘I have something to tell you,’ I thought it must be, ‘Sorry, there’s no hope. You’re going to die.’ When he said, ‘You’ll never walk again,’ it was a relief. I could accept that.”
That was the easy part. But adapting and learning to do everything differently has not been so easy. So Jo developed ways of dealing with setbacks. His favourite saying when things get tough is, “You can either laugh or cry. But if you laugh, people like you better.”
Jo did progress, becoming more and more independent and mobile.
His testimony also became independent. Although he had been brought up in the Church, Jo had gone through a less-active stage earlier in life. He drifted in with the wrong crowd and did some things he regretted. Gradually, through the influence of missionaries, and to keep his mum happy, he returned to the Church.
“It was while I was in the hospital that I decided to find out for sure whether the Church is true,” he says. “I had plenty of opportunity to fast and pray in there as my visits lengthened into months.” (His spine began curving, needing replacement with bones from his ribs.)
At the end of his first fast, the Aylesbury Ward bishop came to visit Jo and offered to take him for a ride. “We entered a beautiful woodland area,” Jo recalls. “As we drove slowly through it, I was reminded of Joseph Smith’s first vision. I had the strongest impression of God’s hand in all that beauty. The feeling also came clearly—this is the Savior’s church, and I should go on a mission.”
Jo’s testimony never wavered after that.
Later, as he participated in his home ward in a class discussion on missions, his yearning for service came sharply into focus. The teacher, not wanting him to feel left out or embarrassed by the emphasis on serving missions, made the comment, “Of course, Jo is excused. He won’t be able to go in a wheelchair.”
“That really motivated me,” exclaims Elder Folkett. “My immediate reaction was, ‘Oh, yes, I will!’” Soon after that, Jo received his patriarchal blessing, which confirmed his decision; it stated that he would serve and proselyte.
Before Jo left for the England Manchester Mission, it became evident just how much his new positive attitude toward life was affecting him. He took part in—and won—several national paraplegic sporting events. He also applied for a training job at his local council offices. They agreed to take him—even after he told them he wouldn’t be available to start for another two years. They accepted his explanation, promising to keep the vacancy especially for him during his mission.
For Jo, blessings such as these outweigh the hardships in his life. He has even found advantages to serving in a wheelchair. “I must be the only missionary to get through two years with one pair of shoes,” he jokes. “These are as good as new!”
There are a few disadvantages, however, such as the number of new tires needed for his special wheelchair. Jo saved up for a lightweight, thin-tired sports model wheelchair before he left on his mission. The smaller chair makes tracting easier and has allowed him to develop the art of wheelies, crowd navigation, and step bouncing to breathtaking degrees.
He has another saying: “You can do anything you want, if it’s possible. Dean Beale from Weston-super-Mare, England, says he appreciates such attitudes from his companion. “After working with Elder Folkett,” he says, “I’ve come to realize that many of the people who blame God for the afflictions of others are not the victims themselves. The victims are often the ones who have faith and humility.”
As Elder Folkett says, “Life is not supposed to be easy. It’s a tough testing ground. But if we behave ourselves and follow God’s plan, then we’ll get the blessings in the end.”
Often the blessings come long before the end, while you’re in the service of the Lord. Jo has seen that happen many times on his mission—such as the day he met Kevin Smith.
Kevin had become interested in the Church through the fine example of a young Latter-day Saint woman in his office, and he had requested a copy of the Book of Mormon from the Blackpool Ward. Jo and his companion volunteered to deliver the scripture to him.
“At that point I wasn’t sufficiently interested in the Church to have missionaries in my home,” says Kevin, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past sixteen years. “I had a stereotyped image of Mormon elders—tall, fresh young American lads straight out of college, wearing stylish suits, with toothpaste-advertisement smiles. I probably wouldn’t have opened the door if they had looked like that. But here were two down-to-earth people, one just as surprised as I was at the sight of a wheelchair.”
“Kevin is such a great guy,” exclaims Elder Folkett, who was surprised to find his investigator in a wheelchair. “Even before we got to his house the first time, I felt that something good would happen.”
Elder Folkett and Kevin got along well from the moment they met, and Jo baptized Kevin not long after that first discussion.
The power of Jo’s example has eternal possibilities. Members who have been less-active have returned to church because of his example. He has shared the gospel with everyone who is willing to listen. And his mission president delights in his “good, cheerful spirit.”
Just as Blackpool’s lights brighten the shadows, so too does Elder Jo Folkett’s bright faith enrich the lives of those he meets.
There’s a sparkle to his testimony that knows no handicap, travels beyond boundaries, and turns barriers into blessings.

Alexandr Masenkov, 17, of the Nevsky Branch, St. Petersburg Russia District, was nervous the first time he blessed the sacrament. “I prepared for it all week,” he remembers. “As I blessed the sacrament that first time, the Spirit touched my heart. Once my father and I were assigned to take the sacrament to a man who was blind and paralyzed. It was the first time I had blessed the sacrament outside of the meetinghouse. I felt I had a responsibility to be a servant and a witness of Jesus Christ and to do what He would do if He were there.”

The Rockland California Stake youth choir gave two performances for their friends, families, and teachers. Jason sang in three special numbers and joined with the whole choir for the larger numbers. These performances, with 121 young people participating, were something that grew from simple beginnings.
It all started at a fireside in the Loomis Second Ward. “The fireside was at my house,” said Amanda Groth. “Everyone was taking a break. Sister Wentzel started playing the piano, and people started singing. Everyone just liked it.”
Danée Call was also at that fireside. “A couple of us girls had a song we were practicing for a sacrament meeting. A couple of the guys came over and tried to pick out their parts. Everybody just came around and was trying to sing. Sister Wentzel said, ‘I think we’ve got a youth choir on our hands.’ We said we would love to do it. Sister Wentzel talked to the bishop, and from then on it was choir practice every Sunday evening.”
The first practice was small. Eric Harms remembers, “It started with seven guys and three or four girls. We liked to sing, but none of us were that talented. We got some of the younger kids to come.”
Those younger kids are growing up and, in turn, are inviting the new Beehives and deacons to join. First the youth choir was just Loomis Second Ward. Then the Loomis First Ward joined to perform at youth conference. Then the choir expanded to take in all the wards of the stake for four months as they prepared to give a concert. Some were worried that the big choir wouldn’t be as good or as close. Anson Call tells about what it was like to take the choir from just their ward to include the stake. “It was like a family when it was our ward. I was afraid it wouldn’t be like that anymore. But it’s exactly the same. The same message and the same spirit, just with a lot more volume.”
At first the ward youth choir sang occasionally in sacrament meeting. Then they performed at missionary farewells and funerals. Expanded to the stake, they decided to give a concert, two performances, where they would invite everyone from their families to neighbors and teachers at school. With 121 singers who were pulling every note from their hearts, the choir was great. “It was so powerful,” said Heather Wentzel, “I almost started crying. I felt like the people in the audience were going to say, ‘Oh, this must be the right church,’ because they must be able to feel the Spirit.”
When the choir is together, singing a song that means something to them, the singers talk about the chills racing up and down their backbones. “Your hair feels like it’s standing up,” said Jadon Andersen. “You feel great.” And now they love that feeling and want more.