Gospel Story Finder

When their bishop challenged them to read the Book of Mormon in a year, the youth of the Spring Creek Ward in Mendon, Utah, got right to work—building a temple. For each five chapters they read, each young man or woman would write his or her name on a craft stick to be attached to a model temple built of foam board. The Young Men and their leaders completed two of the walls, the Young Women and their leaders completed the other two, and the bishopric covered the roof. They all got together to celebrate finishing the Book of Mormon and the temple at the end of the year.

To introduce people to the Church, the São Paulo Brazil Stake celebrated its 30th anniversary in 1996 with a missionary open house showing what the Church has to offer families. Those who attended were able to experience Relief Society, Young Women and Young Men, or Primary lessons; in the Primary section, for example, visitors learned to sing “I Am a Child of God” and created a picture to take home.
Stake mission president Norberto Carlos Lopes, a dynamic man who was on crutches at the time because of a leg injury, says the event literally kept him hopping from place to place. Some 616 people were introduced to the Church at the open house, and for several weeks afterward missionaries averaged one baptism per day. Brother Lopes says the many members who brought guests or helped with the event typify the perseverance Brazilian Saints show in sharing the gospel with others. “We can’t quit working with people,” he says, “because we never know the day someone’s heart will be open.”

The last of the rain that had let up an hour ago ran down the gutters, carrying leaves, papers, and other debris along with it. The air smelled clean and fresh, but Ian Rollins didn’t notice it as he drove slowly along the empty streets. Neither did he notice the distorted reflection of neon lights in the puddles on the ground as dusk came on, or the rising moon peeking through storm clouds. He just drove, not paying any more attention to where he was going than to the post-rainstorm outdoors. His thoughts and concentration were wrapped up deeply in more pressing matters.
Driving was what he did when he needed time to think, and this October night, there was plenty for him to think about. His birthday was coming up in a couple of months, his 19th birthday, to be exact. And something he had not thought about in a long time, had put off thinking about, had suddenly appeared—going on a mission.
His parents certainly wanted him to go. Their comments and questions about what he thought of a mission had become more and more frequent until, that evening at dinner, he informed them that they might as well stop bugging him about it because he didn’t know if he even wanted to go. “Why?” they had asked, as he knew they would. And the worst part about it was that he couldn’t tell them what he didn’t know himself. The best way he could put it to himself was that he didn’t want to think about a mission, and that meant it wasn’t for him.
On another level, though, another thought would surface briefly. Maybe it was really skepticism that kept him from wanting a mission. It was hard for him to believe the returned missionaries who said a mission was the best two years of their life. Maybe there were better things to do with his time. No matter how he tried to explain it to himself, though, he always got a feeling of emptiness and misdirection when he put thoughts of a mission away.
Tonight Ian was determined to convince himself one way or another by thinking out the pros and cons while he drove. He continued to wrestle with his thoughts as he absently turned right onto a dark side street. Then something caught his attention and he looked around.
Most of the lights on the street were out, but one neon sign glowed blue light into the darkness. “Hats,” it said, and the sign underneath it in the window said “Open.” Ian had never seen this small shop before, and with a bit of curiosity that surprised him, he parked his car and crossed the street to go in.
Inside, he was confronted with what seemed like a mountain of hats, all shapes and sizes. Hats were piled on tables, stacked three or four deep on plaster mannequin heads, hanging from hooks on the walls the whole length of the shop. For such a small business they were well stocked, but that made it look more like a rummage sale than a hat boutique. Even the counter where the cash register sat had hats scattered on it. On the wall behind the counter was a sign that simply said, “We’ve got what you need.”
I doubt that, Ian thought sarcastically to himself. You don’t even know what I need. He was still curious about the place, though, so he began to browse.
The first thing he found was a score of baseball caps advertising various musical groups. He picked out one from a group he liked and took it to a nearby mirror to try it on. He stuck it on his head, and suddenly a strange thing happened. He was no longer in a quiet little hat shop. He began to hear a great roar, and the temperature in the room got hotter, and abruptly he saw a crowd of people bathed in glaring lights. Then he realized he was in an arena, and he was there to sing to all those people. He was the lead singer of the group, ready to step up to a microphone and belt out the lyrics to a top-ten hit. All the same, he knew he was still Ian Rollins, with the same indecisiveness plaguing him. That didn’t change, no matter how vivid this illusion was. He pulled the hat off, and slowly the image faded and he was back in the shop.
No hat had ever had that effect on him. He stared at it, trying to see what had made it do that, but in his hands it looked and felt as normal as any other hat. He was still contemplating this when a voice from behind startled him.
“Need any help?”
Ian turned, and behind the counter was an old man with curly white hair and a gray mustache. He was dressed in a white shirt and gray vest that struck Ian as old-fashioned for some reason. He peered at Ian through round, wire-rimmed spectacles.
“No, thanks,” Ian said, “I’m just looking.” The old man nodded. “How late are you open?” Ian asked.
“As late as we need to be,” the old man answered. “It varies from time to time.”
Ian turned back to the hats, shrugging off the strange answer the man had given. The next hat he tried on was a dusty old top hat. As soon as it was on, the cluttered shop became a spacious ballroom, and he was dressed in a tuxedo and shiny, black shoes as well as the hat. His arm was linked in the arm of a beautiful young woman. Her hair and clothing were styled in a way he had seen in old movies and in the pictures of his grandparents when they were young. The orchestra struck up a waltz, and the woman smiled at him as he led her onto the dance floor. But Ian still felt hollow and confused, and he removed the hat. Immediately he came back to the real world.
It had done it again! When the illusion was happening, it all seemed perfectly normal, but when he took the hat off and reality came rushing back, he realized that he had been dreaming or something. He looked at the old man, who was still behind the counter. He didn’t act like anything strange had occurred. He was sitting there, reading a book. Ian almost asked, “Did you see that?” then thought better of it. He didn’t want anyone thinking there was something wrong with him.
This is all very nice, Ian thought. But I still haven’t figured anything out, and it’s getting late. Even so, he decided to try on one more hat, just to see what it would do. After looking around a bit, he found an old, brown derby. Ian didn’t think very much could be interesting about such a nondescript hat, but he put it on anyway.
Before he even saw anything, he was suddenly very hungry, and his feet hurt like they did when he went on Boy Scout hikes. Then he saw where he was, on a dirt road lined with trees that were laden with leaves colored by autumn. A cool breeze made an occasional leaf float to the ground. He was walking down this road, and alongside him was another man slightly taller than he, dressed in a dark suit and carrying a briefcase. Ian himself was carrying a Bible and a Book of Mormon bound by a leather strap. Suddenly, he heard himself say, “Do you think they’ll put us up tonight?”
The other man answered, “I don’t know, Elder. They don’t have much. You know that the father was killed last year at Belleau Wood, and they’ve been struggling ever since. We may have to go on to the next house after we talk to them, and ask for board there.”
Ian sighed. The next house was two more miles away, and he’d been walking all day on the oatmeal he’d had for breakfast. His feet hurt, but at the same time he was happy, because they were finally going to see the Kilminsters, with whom they’d been trying to make an appointment for weeks. Now that they’d consented to see the missionaries …
Ian stopped walking. He knew where he was this time. He was on a mission in a rural area around the end of World War I, a time when missionaries had no cars, no bikes, no apartments, no money. They walked to their contacts and took food and bed where they could get it. In spite of all that, Ian felt no sense of hardship or deprivation. He only felt calm and peaceful, as he knew he was in the right place. It was a good feeling, and it did not diminish with the visual imagery as he took the derby off. It replaced the confusion that had filled him. Tears came to his eyes as he stared at the hat without really seeing it. It was selfish of him to think that he couldn’t go on a mission today and reap rewards as great as those who went years and years before, fighting personal hardship to bring the gospel to God’s children. Ian knew now what he wanted. He took the hat over to the counter.
“How much is this?” he asked the man.
“Five dollars,” he answered. “Bit dated, ain’t it? Nobody wears ’em anymore.”
“I don’t know that I’ll wear it, but I kind of like it.” Ian paid for the hat, and the old man put it in a box. Ian hurried out to his car, eager to get home and talk to his parents.
The old man watched him through the window as his car pulled away. Then, with a smile, he turned the sign to “Closed” and flipped off the lights.

I love to give talks in Primary. One day my brother, Mack, was asked to give a talk. It was his first time giving a talk. I was a little mad and sad because he got chosen instead of me. So I said a prayer asking Heavenly Father to help me get rid of those bad feelings. Then I felt better and I wanted to help my brother. I told him, “Mack, if you get scared during your talk, look at me and see the smile on my face.” Mack gave a great talk and he wasn’t too scared, but I was smiling at him anyway. Heavenly Father helps me to be happy for others.

Many times the most beautiful examples of obedience and service are given by ordinary people who live close to us. Sister Ana Rita de Jesus, an elderly widow, lived in Anápolis, Brazil. She could not read or write. The missionaries would go to her home every week to read the scriptures to her. She was loving and kind. Every Sunday she would ask the missionaries to help her fill out a tithing slip. Sometimes her tithing and offerings were not more than a few cents, but she knew the law and wanted to obey it. After paying her tithing, she would walk into the room where the sacrament meeting was held in the rented house used as a chapel and would place a flower on the pulpit. In doing so, she served her brothers and sisters, bringing beauty to the place where we worshiped the Lord. That sister, in a very simple way, taught us obedience and service through her faith. She knew that obeying the commandments is the best preparation to serve. President Monson advised us in the last April general conference to “obey the commandments” and “serve with love” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1998, 63; or Ensign, May 1998, 47). Sister Ana Rita did so throughout her life.

Then our Finnish cousins drove us to the family homestead, which was pictured on our two-page report. They told us that our family had owned as much land as the eye could see. The house on the family homestead was enormous and had housed Laurunen families as far back as 1550. When the Russian military came into Kauhajoki, they used the homestead for military headquarters. They burned down the church and all other homes in the area. Everyone, including our family, fled to the woods for safety. After the Russians left, our grandfather led the building of the new church that we had seen earlier. Eventually the land around the homestead was divided and sold.

Like other prospective missionaries, Lohran Saldanha Queiroz had to make a choice to serve a mission or not. But besides deciding whether to give up school, work, family, and friends for two years, Lohran had another tough choice: serve a mission or have the opportunity to play professional football in Brazil?
Lohran, a member of the Barra da Tijuca Ward, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Jacarepaguá Stake, has football in his blood. His father, Milton, is known simply as Tita throughout Brazil. He has played professionally in five countries, won many titles, been a top scorer in the state, and played on the national team.
Tita noticed his son’s ability early on. “I grew up with a football always close by,” Lohran remembers. “My father has always encouraged me. I started accompanying him to his practices when I was three or four and have been around professional players ever since.”
Formal training began for Lohran at age 6 in Mexico, where his father was playing football at the time. By age 12 he was playing in elite competitions back in Brazil. And when he was 17 Lohran played in the junior league—the fast track to professional recruitment. Lohran seemed destined for football stardom. But his 18th birthday was quickly approaching, and he started thinking more seriously of missionary service.
Lohran explains the dilemma: “I wanted to be a football player, and I wanted to be a missionary. They expect a player to go straight from the junior team to the professional league. To stop playing for two years and then expect to be hired at 21 is almost unthinkable.”
At age 17 Lohran made some decisions that led to what he calls the beginning of his conversion. He set goals to read the Book of Mormon daily, fast, and pray. He attended Mutual, firesides, and other Church activities more often. And when he began working regularly with the missionaries, he found a love of the people he visited and prayed for. He wanted them to have the blessings of the gospel. His desire to serve a mission began to grow. But when would it be best for him to serve? And what would happen to his football career after a two-year interruption?
Lohran sought to learn God’s will through fasting and prayer. That very week, he noticed the recently delivered issue of the New Era magazine in his home, and he began thumbing through it. He was attracted to the article “Ice Dreams,” about ice skater Chris Obzansky, who interrupted a promising skating career to serve a mission at age 19, losing the opportunity to compete in the 2006 Winter Olympics.
One passage in particular caught Lohran’s attention: as Chris was in sacrament meeting listening to his Young Men president talk about his own mission call, the Spirit told Chris, “You need to serve a mission when you’re 19, or you’re going to have a tough life.” Chris said, “The message was so clear I actually turned around to see if someone was there. The feeling came back 10 times stronger, and I knew I had to go on a mission.”
Lohran smiles. “When I read that, I felt it had been written for me. Age 19 is the age prescribed by the Lord. I realized that was the answer I needed, and it was like an enormous weight was taken off my back.” The time for Lohran to serve a mission was now. He talked to his bishop, made the necessary preparations, and never looked back. “It was not even difficult to make the decision of leaving football behind,” he says, “for I knew it was the right time to do it.”
Lohran served in his country’s capital, in the Brazil Brasília Mission. He was known as “Elder Happy” because of his contagious enthusiasm. “I am exceptionally happy serving people, sharing with them what I know is true,” he says. “It is so gratifying to see people change their lives after learning the gospel.”
Like all missionaries, though, he experienced his share of hardships. “Obviously, missionary life is not all fun,” he says. “There are difficulties, moments of weakness and loneliness, but all that is next to nothing compared to the treasures of a mission. These are years I’ll never forget, that I’ll always have in my mind and, more important, my heart.”
A few months ago he finished serving a successful mission. Now that he’s home, he has joined a football team in Rio de Janiero and believes more chances to continue his football career will come his way. With faith he says, “I am now waiting for the opportunities to come, opportunities that our Heavenly Father will bless me to enjoy.”

1 I’m glad you asked for a blessing, sweetheart. Daddy’s calling Brother Simon to come help.
2 I hope you don’t mind my coming, too, Mei Lin. When I heard that one of my girls was sick, I just couldn’t stay away.
I’m glad you came.
4 Thank you, Brother Simon. Thanks, Dad. When you put your hands on my head, I could feel your love.
5 And Heavenly Father’s and Jesus’ love too. The priesthood is their power, not ours, and they’ve revealed that it must always be used with love.
6 My head feels a little better already, and I feel a lot better inside.
So do I, sweetheart.
And so do I.

When I first came to general conference, I was shocked to witness protesters shouting rude things at my hosts, whom I was growing to love. I thought I would walk over in my clerical collar and just make it clear to them that these are nice people: “You know these are lovely people. Why are you so cross?” The reaction was a baptism of fire into what the United States understands as freedom of speech; in the United Kingdom, it would have been called hate speech. But, nonetheless, it was embarrassing to hear some of what they said—but I felt that I could look my hosts in the eye and stand with you as you were ridiculed.

A few years after my mission, I found myself at BYU progressing toward a master’s degree in accounting. I was working, studying, being active in Church, and dating, but I was dating to date. I was not dating to get married, and yes, there is a definite difference between the two. As I look back on that time, I don’t think I had really made the decision to say “Count me in!” on marriage. Although I had told myself that I would like to get married, I hadn’t committed that I would make myself ready to be married; I wasn’t sure I was ready to be “Counted in.”
One night in the spring of 1989, Brian Watkins, my freshman floor mate and a current BYU–Hawaii accounting professor, invited me over for dinner with his wife Cindi and with Ray Richmond, my freshman roommate, and his wife Alicia. You single guys probably already perceive the predicament I was in. As I looked forward to the dinner, I was already anticipating an awkward evening talking about marriage, babies, pregnancy, strollers, diapers etc. and was wondering who I knew that would enjoy going with me and would be able handle the situation well. While contemplating my options, I decided to invite Teresa. Teresa and I had become friends a couple years earlier when we were in the same ward and on the same inner tube water polo team with three of my siblings and some other friends. Gratefully, she accepted the dinner invitation.
As I correctly imagined, the dinner conversation did turn toward marriage, babies, pregnancy, strollers, diapers, etc., but to her credit, Teresa handled it quite well in spite of this being only our second date in two years. As the conversation continued about married life, it then turned toward housing, at which point Cindi turned toward “us” and asked, “Have you two started looking for housing yet?” We both chuckled, jokingly scooted a little closer, and said, “No, no, not yet.” The rest of the dinner passed without a hitch. After that, we went to ward prayer, and as we arrived, we walked up the stairs arm-in-arm, still playing it up as if we were “an item.”
But, something happened to me that night. The ice was broken. I finally realized deep down in my heart, what I already knew in my head, that the dating scene was designed to lead to something more serious. It was not meant to be an eternal means of entertaining yourself on the weekend when you were done with work and were tired of studying. The Lord expected more out of the process, and, for the first time in my life, I decided to say “Count me in” on it.
After that, dating did change for me. I wish I could say that it lead to a smooth and quick marriage to Teresa, my dream girl, but it didn’t. In between that first second date and our eventual marriage, we both dated other people seriously, but gratefully, in Part 3 of our relationship, it all came together and we were married in the Los Angeles Temple right in the middle of my last semester of my Master’s program.

Jerry Martin, a member of the Plano stake presidency, joined a self-reliance group for personal finances so he could become familiar with the process and the course material. As a retired chief financial officer of a major corporation, he didn’t think he had much to learn about finances.
“I saw opportunities to help several participants get out of debt or develop personal savings and investment plans that fit their unique circumstances,” he said. “It was very satisfying.” And he enjoyed the camaraderie from the group. Then he made a personal discovery.
“I had always paid my tithes and a generous fast offering, but as I participated in this group, I had a nagging feeling that I wasn’t doing enough,” Brother Martin said. “Was I sharing enough? Was I sufficiently consecrated?”
Despite his personal service and Church contributions, these questions persisted. While visiting India, he met many individuals and organizations involved in generously supporting various humanitarian efforts. As President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, has said, “The Church of Jesus Christ is committed to serving those in need, and it is also committed to cooperating with others in that effort.” With that in mind, Brother Martin began looking for other opportunities to serve and cooperate with like-minded individuals. He wasn’t prepared for what came next.
“I had a valuable penny collection,” Brother Martin said. “As I prayed in India about how and where I might contribute to the work being done by others, a prompting came to me that I also needed to consider the source of potential contributions—not from my investment account but from my penny collection. I realized at that point: this was my moment of consecration. How much did that penny collection really mean to me?”
“This was my moment of consecration.”
Eventually, Brother Martin sold his penny collection and used the proceeds to fund humanitarian projects overseas and college scholarships locally. “If I had not participated in the self-reliance group, I would never have even considered how I could lift others through my time as well as my means,” he explained. “I’m a better person for it.”

There is probably no greater Gethsemane for saint or sinner than the grief felt over the death of one’s child. I am going to read a portion of a letter written by a father to his ten-year-old daughter just minutes after he learned of her accidental death. Note how this good man’s Gethsemane became a sanctifying experience because of his knowledge of the gospel and because of the gift of the Comforter. Contrast his reaction with what it may have been without the light of the gospel. I read it with his permission.

If you may be permitted to listen, these are some thoughts your “Dear Ol’ Dad” would like to express in his and your mom’s hour of joy and sorrow.

You have been an angel of light in our home. Even in your passing you have sanctified the experience by the sweet sorrow of this temporary parting. As I sit in this hotel room many miles from home and only moments after hearing of your passing, I have confidence that you are really home. It’s pleasing to know that you are now unencumbered by the mild, but troublesome physical limitations you accepted and lived with in such an adorable noncomplaining way.

Mom and I and your seven brothers and sisters are better because you came to our house. Soon after your day of birth you helped us to accept fear and the unknown; to better love others with physical, emotional, or mental challenges; to accept the disappointment accompanying an unknown prognosis and to query and plead with our Father, who today you know better than we do. As you grew older, we learned determination from you, who had every right to spill your milk but never did, who royally beat your mom and dad in tetherball, who averaged ninety-seven percent in spelling for an entire year and by sheer grit struggled with math, and who without ever a complaint sat with your mom every night—summer and school months—to read and understand what you had read. Yes, we did our best to help you learn, but what we learned from you cannot be printed in books—cannot be written because it is almost too sacred to rehearse.

We pray for all of us who the Lord expects to stay here on the job for yet awhile. Our prayers are that we will be worthy to be reunited with you and to see you whole and perfect. Oh, how we would have loved to have you stay. How we would love to hear your ever so spontaneous “I love you.” How we’d thrill to feel that clinging embrace. Oh yes, especially today.

“Hank’s going to be our new Webelos leader?” I gasped to my best friend, Rodney. “Old Hank Thomas?”
“That’s what I heard Bishop Willis telling my mom. He said that Sister Franklin has to quit until after she has her baby.”
“But that won’t be for weeks,” I moaned. “Sister Franklin’s the best leader we’ve ever had. Why do we get stuck with Hank Thomas?”
Rodney dropped his chin into his cupped hands. “How’s Bishop Willis going to make Hank do it? He doesn’t even go to church.”
I had never seen Hank in church, although his wife came all the time. Most Sundays he was out working in his yard or driving around in his old green pickup.
The next day six of us Webelos sat on the church lawn, nervously picking at the grass and squinting down the street.
“I bet he doesn’t show,” I muttered.
“He still has two minutes,” Rodney commented, glancing at his watch.
“Here he comes!” KC shouted.
Sure enough, Hank’s pickup was rumbling toward the church. We all jumped up and stared, wondering if Hank would actually stop or drive on toward the DoNut Place, where he liked to hang out.
Hank parked his truck and climbed out. “Are you the Webelos that Bishop Willis told me about?”
One of us must have nodded. “Well, I guess I’m going to be your teacher.” Hank coughed, glaring at us. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and looked past us toward the church. “I haven’t been one to go to church much. Bishop Willis said we could have these meetings at my place.” He glanced at our bikes parked on the sidewalk. “Can you meet me over there in about five minutes?”
We nodded.
Nobody spoke as we all dragged up Hank’s driveway while he waited for us in his huge garage. We gaped about as we entered, eyeing the table saw, the drill press, the toolboxes, and the hammers, wrenches, and screwdrivers all carefully hung on the wall or lined neatly on shelves.
“Mrs. Franklin said I was supposed to teach you something about tools,” Hank announced. “I don’t know much about Webelos, but I know a thing or two about tools.”
Rodney raised his hand. “Brother Thomas, are we going to have a prayer? Sister Franklin always started with a prayer.”
Hank stared at Rodney. Rodney gulped.
“Just call me Hank, not Brother Thomas,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “I guess we could all use a good prayer.” He pulled the battered baseball cap he always wore from his head. “So you give us one,” he said to Rodney.
Rodney gave a short prayer, and then Hank pulled a Webelos book from his back pocket and thumbed through it for a while. “Well,” he finally spoke, “according to this book, you’re supposed to learn to use a saw and a hammer and a few other things. Now all we have to do is figure out what you’re going to build.”
“I think all you have to do is watch us use each of the tools,” I offered. “When we were Wolves, we just had to hammer a nail and use a screwdriver to put in a screw and—”
“What did you make?” Hank cut me short.
“We didn’t make anything,” I told him. “We just had to know how to use the tools.”
“How did anybody know if you really knew how to use the tools if you didn’t make anything with them?”
I shrugged.
“Well,” Hank muttered, “I’m not planning to watch a bunch of boys hammer nails and screw screws for nothing.” He studied us from under his cap. “What do you want to build?” When we all just stared at him, he grunted, “When I was your age, I wanted to build a coaster car.”
“What’s a coaster car?” Rodney questioned.
Hank glared at Rodney like he’d asked whether the moon was really made of cheese. “You fellows have skateboards and fancy bikes,” he said. “When I was a kid, we had coaster cars.”
“But we don’t know anything about building coaster cars,” I squeaked.
For the first time a gruff smile cracked Hank’s lips. “You’re going to know something about them before you’re finished being Webelos.”
I figured we’d just watch Hank work, but he didn’t even touch a tool. He made us do it all. Before that first day was over, we had ruined a few of Hank’s good boards, but we finally got the ones cut out that we were going to need.
The next week Hank was glaring down at his watch as we pushed our bikes up his driveway. “When I say three-thirty, I don’t mean three-thirty-two.”
We all gulped and nodded.
“Let’s hurry and get started,” Rodney said, trying to make amends for us.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Hank demanded.
We all looked at each other and then back at Hank.
Hank pulled off his baseball cap and bowed his head. “Rodney forgot to say his prayer.”
I don’t remember a Webelos activity ever going so fast. Hank had us measuring with a square, using his power sander, chiseling boards so they’d fit together. We did all the work, but Hank was always right there telling us the how and why of every little thing. “How long do you fellows stay around?” he finally asked.
“Oh, about an hour,” I answered.
“Well, you’d better head home then. You’ve been here almost two.”
We all looked up in surprise.
“We just got here,” KC protested.
“May we come over a little earlier next time?” Rodney asked shyly.
Hank thought a moment, then nodded.
From then on, we were there right after school.
Gradually our coaster car started taking shape. It looked like a race car with a square back. Hank took us around to bicycle shops and junkyards until we found some good used bike wheels. He showed us how to fix the axles and mount the wheels. We cut the legs off an old kitchen chair and mounted it inside the car. Hank had an old steering wheel he let us use.
Some days we didn’t work on the car. One day Rodney asked why lumber was so expensive. Hank piled us all into his truck and took us to a nearby canyon. He had us hike up into the trees and told us why certain trees grew where they did and why some kinds of lumber cost more than others. The next week he took us to a sawmill and showed us how the lumber was made.
At first we were a little afraid of Hank, but after a while, he was a friend. Rodney and I stopped by his place one Saturday and stayed most of the afternoon. Pretty soon we were stopping by all the time. Sometimes we’d talk. Sometimes we’d help him in his shop or his yard.
One afternoon while Rodney and I were playing a Little League game, I glanced at the stands, and there was Hank cheering for us. I never played a better game, and afterward Hank took us to the DoNut Place for a soda and an eclair.
“Sister Franklin had her baby last night,” Rodney announced one afternoon when we were heading to Hank’s for Webelos.
We all stopped and stared at him.
“Does that mean she’s going to be our Webelos leader again?” KC asked.
Rodney shrugged.
“I really like Sister Franklin,” KC said, “but shouldn’t she stay home a while longer and take care of her baby?”
Finally we finished our coaster car. It had a sleek wooden body and polished bicycle wheels. We painted it blue, and on the side, in big green letters, we wrote: WEBELOS WINNER.
The next afternoon we hauled it over to the hill at Adams Park and took turns coasting down. It was better than any skateboard or fancy bike.
As we were lifting the car back into Hank’s truck, he announced, “I guess Mrs. Franklin’s about ready to take you fellows back.”
We were all quiet for a long time. Then Rodney asked, “Is there any way you can be our Webelos leader all the time, Hank?”
All of us held our breath. Hank turned away. “I was just kind of filling in for Mrs. Franklin. I think she’d feel pretty bad if someone took her job.”
“Oh, Bishop Willis can find her another job,” I assured him.
Hank chuckled. “The bishop has to decide that, boys, and I think he wants someone who will go to church and—”
“You can go to church,” Rodney spoke up. “Anybody can go to church. If we’d known you wanted to go to church, we’d have asked you a long time ago.”
Hank smiled and shook his head. “I don’t know anything about going to church.”
“We didn’t know anything about making coaster cars until you taught us. We can teach you about going to church.”
Hank shook his head. “People would drop over dead if I showed up at church. They’d wonder why I was barging in after all these years.”
“You could tell them you showed up to … well, to …” KC stopped and scratched his head. Suddenly he brightened up. “You could go to hear me talk in Primary! I’m giving a talk this Sunday. Honest.”
“Yeah, you could go to hear KC’s talk!” I burst out.
Hank slammed the tailgate of his truck and rubbed his chin. “Boys, it’s been a long time since—” He swallowed and shook his head. “No one would want to see me in church.”
“We would!” we all yelled.
“Honest, Hank,” I said. “And we want you for our Webelos leader too. You just have to.”
“We’ve built your coaster car. What else would we do?”
“We need another coaster car. How are we going to have races in just one car? And how are we going to build another car unless you help us?”
“What would the bishop say?”
“We’ll take care of the bishop,” I promised rashly.
A funny smile tickled Hank’s lips, and all of a sudden he was grinning. “Well, maybe I could—”
“We’ll pick you up Sunday at nine-twenty,” I told him.
“I meant I could help you build another coaster car. I didn’t say anything about going to—”
“And when we say nine-twenty,” Rodney interrupted with a grin, “we don’t mean nine-twenty-two.”
Hank didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either, and we all knew that we were going to build another coaster car and that Hank was going to hear KC’s talk on Sunday.

I’m not what most people would consider a convert to the Church. I was baptized when I was eight, and I have gone to church all my life. But when it came time to serve a mission, I decided not to go.
I thought about a mission, and I even prayed about it. But I never felt that I received an answer. I decided I didn’t want to go on a mission for someone who didn’t answer my prayers.
As the months went by and my friends started to leave for their missions, I started to grow farther away from the Church. Soon I quit going to church altogether. Before long I noticed I wasn’t very happy with my life. I couldn’t understand it. I was going to college and working at a ski resort. I had a nice car and a girlfriend. But I still wasn’t happy. It was about this time that the stake president’s secretary called me for an appointment. I couldn’t imagine why the stake president wanted to see me, but I went ahead and set up a time.
When I arrived at his office, the stake president said, “You probably wonder why I wanted to speak with you tonight.” I told him that I did. He explained that he was talking with all the young men of the stake who were my age to find out what they were doing with their lives.
Oh great, I thought, another person who’s going to tell me to go on a mission. But the stake president surprised me when he told me that my decision about a mission was between me and the Lord. We talked about my plans for the future, and then he said, “I want you to do two things for me. Will you pray and read the Book of Mormon?”
I told him that I would, even though I had no real intention of doing so. But over the next few days, I couldn’t get the stake president’s words out of my head: “Pray and read the Book of Mormon.”
One morning a couple of days later, I got up and got ready for work. Before I left, I grabbed my mom’s old copy of the Book of Mormon and stuck it in my backpack. That day, I was assigned to work at one of the slowest lifts at the resort. As I was sitting in the top shack, I decided to read some of the Book of Mormon. I’ve read 1 Nephi about 300 times, so I decided to start at Jacob and read from there. I remembered that when you read the scriptures, you are also supposed to pray to know if they’re true, so I offered a brief but sincere prayer, and then began my reading. I read Jacob, then Enos, Jarom, and Omni. The crew foreman called and told me someone was going to come and relieve me for lunch. I told him I’d like to skip lunch and stay at that lift the rest of the day. I kept reading.
By the end of the day I had read from Jacob to Alma, and I understood it. I had an overwhelming feeling to share the things that I had read with everyone that I could. The things I read made me happy. I felt excited but also peaceful. I knew that the Book of Mormon was true. There was no way to deny it.
Earlier I had felt that the Lord hadn’t answered my prayer about whether to serve a mission or not. What I hadn’t thought about is the fact that I already had an answer. I already knew that it is the responsibility of every young man to serve a mission.
Although I’m not what most people would consider a convert to the Church, that day at the ski lift I was converted, and the desire I felt to share the things I read stayed with me. I’m now serving a mission in San Bernardino, California. I’m so grateful that I didn’t pass up this chance to serve.

It was midnight when the wagon journey from Nauvoo ended. Joseph and his brethren entered Carthage, and his fate was sealed. His enemies had awaited their coming with great anxiety. The governor, who was present, persuaded the mob to disperse that night by promising them that they should have full satisfaction.

The next day, after a hearing, Joseph was released on bail, but re-arrested on a trumped-up charge of treason. Bail was refused and Joseph and Hyrum were placed in Carthage Jail.

The last night of Joseph’s life on earth he bore a powerful testimony, to the guards and others who assembled at the door of the jail, of the divinity of the Book of Mormon, also declaring that the gospel had been restored and the kingdom of God established on the earth. It was for this reason that he was incarcerated in prison, not for violating any law of God or man.

It was late at night when they tried to get some rest. At first Joseph and Hyrum occupied the only bed in the jail room, but a gunshot during the night and a disturbance led Joseph’s friends to insist that he take a place between two of them on the floor. They would protect him with their own bodies. Joseph asked Elder Markham to use his arm for a pillow while they conversed, then he turned to Elder Dan Jones, on the other side, and whispered, “Are you afraid to die?” And this staunch friend answered, “Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause, I do not think death would have many terrors.”

Joseph replied, “You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die” (HC 6:601).

I am deeply grateful for four boys in the ward Sister Shumway grew up in because of their kindness and respect they showed her through their teenage years: Terry Summerhays, Terry Pantalakis, Legrand Lyman, Dwight Laws. These were her "friend boys" who danced with her, called her "Little Sister," and carried her on hikes when she sprained her ankle so that she wouldn't miss out on the fun; wrote complimentary notes to her for being a good girl and looked me over carefully when I started dating her. Their kindness and respect bolstered her feelings of self worth and confidence around men. She felt accepted, even honored.

I am blessed because of them. After 43 years of incredibly happy marriage, I still honor these men and their kindness to Carolyn before I ever knew her.

Where I live, my family and I are the only members of the Church. I am the only member at my school. I have had to stand up for my belief in Jesus Christ with my friends many times. It is not easy, but I know I need to choose the right. One way I choose the right is by passing the sacrament.
I was nervous to pass the sacrament for the first time. I didn’t want to trip and fall. My friend taught me what to do. He helped me out on my first Sunday. It was also fast Sunday, so I fasted and prayed that I would not make a mistake. I felt happy after I passed the sacrament, and I knew that I did the right thing. I felt at peace.

A few years ago, I was becoming more comfortable with sharing my experience with same-sex attraction. However, I was having a hard time feeling like I belonged at church. On a beautiful October Sunday, I took a moment to go on a walk and pray before going to elders quorum. I was feeling quite raw and vulnerable from sharing some of my personal experiences and feared how people would perceive me. I knew Heavenly Father could help provide the peace I needed.
I prayed to Him, letting Him know the pain and emotions I was experiencing. I remember saying, “God, how can I go back to a place where I feel that people don’t get me?”
And this sweet impression came to my mind: “Spencer, they don’t need to get you, because I get you.”
Knowing that Heavenly Father and the Savior truly saw me, understood me, and loved me was, in that moment, a profound tender mercy.
They affirmed my “belovedness” that day, and I realized that following Them and remembering that I belong to Them fills me with joy and helps me see what I can be. Being reminded of this eternal truth and allowing it to take root in me gave me the peace I needed.

A little while ago my family and I moved to Kentucky. I was really upset because I was leaving all my friends and extended family behind. Kentucky was very different from what I was used to. The first time we went to church, I saw that there weren’t very many people there. When I realized how small my branch was, I decided that I would do something about it.
The next day, my mom and I went to the store. Before we left the house, I grabbed a stack of pass-along cards. When we got to the store, I got a candy bar and went to check out. The cashier scanned the candy, then handed it to me. I handed it back. She looked confused and said, “You just paid for this, ma’am.”
I said, “I know, but I’m giving this to you as a gift.” Then I put a pass-along card with the candy. She smiled and thanked me. She looked at the back of the pass-along card, where I had written, “Everyone is a child of God.” I walked away with happiness, knowing that even if she didn’t join the Church, I still did something good.
Later that day, I remembered that I left the rest of the pass-along cards by the cash register! The next time we went to the store, I went to ask if they were still there. Then I saw something, and I stopped in my steps. About five of the cash registers had pass-along cards that said, “Everyone is a child of God.” The cashier had passed them out! I felt so happy because of what I did.

Sister Eyvonne Black and her husband, Russell, served as missionaries in the Dominican Republic. Their service enabled hundreds of people to find hope through studying the word of God. They organized more than 100 literacy classes, using the Book of Mormon as their text. While learning to read, the students learned of Jesus Christ. Many were baptized and, with faith centered in Christ, began to “hope for a better world” (Ether 12:4).