Gospel Story Finder

We had a strong group of young men in our ward, but our son Matthew gravitated to a nonmember who shared his love for cars and anything mechanical. Unfortunately, this young man came from a family that did not value religion. His parents allowed drinking and smoking in their home and didn’t believe that being morally clean was important.
Matthew had earned the top rank in Scouting, but he did not participate in the awards meeting because he had stopped living Scouting standards. I gathered all his Scouting awards and made a display case. Then I put it away, hoping that one day it would be of value to him. By the time he was 16, Matthew was smoking, drinking, and doing drugs. He dropped out of school and moved in with his girlfriend. For a couple of years, we rarely saw him.
We were devastated. We didn’t know if he would ever return to his family and faith, but we decided to follow Alma’s example in dealing with his wayward son. Alma continued to love his son and prayed with faith that he would “be brought to the knowledge of the truth” (Mosiah 27:14).
We prayed constantly that the Lord would intervene in Matthew’s life, and we took every opportunity to express by word and action how much we loved him. When he would come home, we did not say anything he might interpret as criticism or judgment. We simply expressed our joy at seeing him.
One day Matthew came home and said he wanted to talk. He said he had met a girl at a party who had questions about the Church. Before he could tell her that he no longer knew the answers, words started coming out of his mouth. He found himself answering her questions as fast as she asked them. Matthew said he did not remember having learned the things he spoke, but he knew his words were true. He wondered why he was living as he was when he still believed the gospel.
After three days of soul-searching, he decided to leave behind the life he had been leading. He had come home to ask for help in starting over.
Matthew called a cousin in another state who had overcome similar difficulties and asked if he could stay with him. His cousin agreed, and Matthew began attending Church meetings with him and met with the bishop to get help with the repentance process. He felt love and support and became active in the Church.
In time he met a lovely, righteous young woman. They fell in love and were married in the temple.
When their first child was born, I came for a visit and brought the display case I had made of his Scouting awards. He was thrilled and proudly hung it in a prominent place in his home.
An angel did not appear to our son, as had happened to Alma the Younger. But Matthew’s return to the truth was just as miraculous.

It was the summer before my senior year of high school, and I didn’t want to flip hamburgers to pay for my back-to-school wardrobe. So when my grandpa asked if I would spend that summer working for him trapping the numerous gophers that ruined the range and wildflowers with their endless tunneling, I agreed. The challenge of doing something none of my classmates were likely to do intrigued me.
By midsummer, the gophers close to the cabin were pretty much under control. I now had to hike farther out to set my traps. One day I was on one of my extended hikes when I stumbled upon the most beautiful scene I’d ever encountered. I just stopped and looked. I had always thought my mountain was the most beautiful one around, but this proved it. From this newly found vantage point, I gazed over miles and miles of rolling hills that spread out beneath where I was standing. I could see two other mountain ranges, clusters of pale purple hues in the distance. I was sure I must be among the first people to have discovered this glorious sight. I decided it was my duty to name this place.
Celestial Ridge seemed like an obvious choice. I decided if I made it to the highest kingdom and was able to create my own worlds, this is what mine would look like.
After this discovery, the mountain rapidly became both a friend and a place for me to worship. Celestial Ridge seemed to fill my needs as the best place to really be alone and draw closer to the Lord. I felt I understood why the prophets of old always seemed to go to the mountains when they wanted to communicate with God.
At nights, I had to find something to occupy my evenings. Since there wasn’t a TV or phone at the cabin I began reading the scriptures. My goal was to read the entire Book of Mormon before the end of summer.
As I dutifully entered this goal on the back page of my journal where I kept a list of both long- and short-term goals, I noticed that one of the long-term goals I always seemed to write down but never achieve was to gain a testimony. I felt I really needed a testimony to go back to school with, even more than I needed new school clothes. So I began reading the scriptures in earnest.
The summer flew by and my stay in the mountains was drawing to a close. I had finally completed the Book of Mormon, and I decided there was no better place to pray about the book’s truthfulness than on Celestial Ridge.
Early one morning I hiked to the ridge. I had begun fasting the night before, and felt I was ready to finally receive my testimony. I knelt down, prayed, and then waited with great expectations. I was ready for angels, a burning bush, or at the very least, the still small voice. I’d read many faith-promoting stories and felt I knew what to expect.
I continued to wait, but nothing was happening. A rush of disappointment swept over me.
Had I done something wrong? I was crushed. I took my scriptures out of my backpack and reread Moroni 10:3–5 [Moro. 10:3–5]. I knelt down again, but still the heavens didn’t open up.
I repacked my dusty blue backpack and trudged back to the cabin while wondering what I had done wrong. I reasoned it must be my fault the Lord hadn’t answered my prayers, because I knew he was there.
When it was time to go back home for school, I was a little despondent as I placed my journal into my suitcase. I really thought this would be the summer I could finally put a check mark by that testimony goal in the back of my journal.
As I waited in the cabin for my parents to pick me up, I noticed I’d forgotten to pack my scriptures. I really didn’t want to read them. Actually I was sort of mad at them because I felt like they had cheated me. However I gave in to boredom and started lazily leafing through the pages.
As I flipped through the Doctrine and Covenants, my eye caught a section of underlined scripture in the 46th section. I read verses 13 and 14; then I reread them again. [D&C 46:13–14] “To some it is given by the Holy Ghost to know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that he was crucified for the sins of the world. To others it is given to believe on their words, that they also might have eternal life if they continue faithful.”
I just stared at the book. A slow, warm feeling started spreading within me. My prayers had been answered. I knew that now. These two verses confirmed that.
All of a sudden I realized that I had been hoping for my own private miracle. But I didn’t need angels or a burning bush or a voice from heaven to whisper to me that the Book of Mormon and the Church were true. I’d already known that. After all, I had known Heavenly Father would answer my prayers because I knew he was there.
I was ready to go back to school. I really had achieved what I’d been working for that summer.

I have had hard times in real life too. In 2021, I tore my ACL in gymnastics. I was devastated and didn’t know what I was going to do.
I remember sitting in church before my surgery. Someone was speaking, but I wasn’t listening until they said one verse: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13). That moment helped me because I knew I needed to pray and get close to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ so I could receive Their strength.

Recently a California family, driving through St. George, Utah, on vacation, was attracted by the unusual architecture of the St. George Temple. They walked around the building, admiring its beauty.
Having a little time to spare, the parents entered the information center; their two young children crossed the street to sit under the shade of a tree near our meetinghouse.
A teacher, calling the children in to Primary and seeing the two young visitors, said, “Come on in to Primary.” They went in.
The parents, now finished at the information center, started looking for the children. After searching for nearly an hour, they saw them come out of the chapel.
The father said, “We’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”
They replied, “We’ve been to Primary.”
“Primary! What’s Primary?”
“Primary is where you learn about Jesus; and, besides, Daddy, you shouldn’t be smoking!” Their father just about swallowed his cigar.
He remarked, “Let’s get on our way. We’re way behind schedule.”
The children said, “We can’t go.”
“Can’t go! Why not?”
“We are in a play.”
“A play?” he asked.
“Yes,” they replied, “and the play isn’t until next week, and we have to stay all week for rehearsals.”
The family stayed in St. George for a week!
The children rehearsed; the parents were taught the gospel; and the whole family was baptized.

Many times, teachers and friends told Spencer that he would not get very far drawing, but he knew that his talent was a gift from God and that he should not hide it. He continued drawing with the support of his family. Spencer said, “When I draw, I really like listening to music. I am a rock fan and a donut fan too. My favorite superhero is Spiderman, and when I saw him on television, I wanted to draw him. That’s how I began to develop my talent.”

One day, a shy student came crying into Julie’s history class. After listening to the young woman’s feelings, Julie gave her some Church pamphlets to read. The girl trashed them. A short while later, the friend suffered severe family problems and ran away. Julie and her family invited the girl to stay at their home for a few days. “I tried to share the gospel with Maura, but she didn’t seem interested,” comments Julie. “Then I volunteered to help her at her job in a stable. In familiar surroundings she could sense how much I thought of her.”
Julie continues, “Maura felt discouraged about life and down on herself. She would ask, ‘Why would God let these things happen?’ Heavenly Father inspired me with answers to her questions. It was amazing how she changed when she started the discussions. She came to know she was a child of God and to believe in herself. I could not believe my joy the day of her baptism,” exclaims Julie.

Marci’s Relief Society experience was positive from day one. Any doubts she had about leaving the secure nest of her Laurel class flew when, on her first day in Relief Society, she was spotlighted. Relief Society President Liz Douglas had contacted Marci’s mother and found out all sorts of fun, interesting things about her. Sister Douglas then presented a rose to Marci and presented Marci to the rest of the sisters in Relief Society. Everyone there welcomed Marci with open arms, and she immediately felt the strong bonds of sisterhood.

Some time after that 1991 Christmas journey, Brother Gutjahr again found himself in Budapest, Hungary. While riding the bus one day, he saw a young man on the bus reading a book, a sight not surprising in central and eastern European countries. The book was worn and showed signs of being well-used. But looking closer, Brother Gutjahr saw something that did surprise him. The tattered, blue cover bore the title Mormon Könyve, Hungarian for “The Book of Mormon.”
The joy of the Christmas season returned. The Christmas present Brother Gutjahr had delivered over a year earlier was still giving.

May I introduce you to a successful young executive who writes: “Our family had it made. My wife and I were close, the three children were well adjusted, and then it happened. Jeff and Angela started to attend Primary with the neighbor’s children. From then on each Primary day our dinner hour became an instant replay of Primary. As parents, we couldn’t believe the great thoughts and attitudes—yes, and ‘a little child shall lead them.’ [Isa. 11:6.] Well, that was the beginning, [he writes], and now after two years as members of the Lord’s true church, we really do have it made. Our family didn’t really know what family unity and true happiness were all about until Mormonism came into our family circle.”

Some years ago, when the Missionary Executive Committee was comprised of Spencer W. Kimball, Gordon B. Hinckley, and Thomas S. Monson, Brother and Sister Hinckley hosted a dinner for the committee members and our wives. We had just finished a lovely dinner in the beautiful home—which Brother Hinckley constructed and on which he did most of the actual work—when suddenly there was a knock at the door. President Hinckley opened the door and noted his home teacher standing there. The home teacher said, “I don’t have with me my companion, but I felt I should come tonight. I didn’t know you would be entertaining company.”
President Hinckley graciously invited the home teacher to come in and sit down and instruct three Apostles and their wives concerning our duty as members. With a bit of trepidation, the home teacher did his best. President Hinckley thanked him for coming, after which the home teacher made a prompt retreat.

The Laurels of the West Weber First Ward, Ogden Utah Weber North Stake, were pleased to discover that they all, including their leader, received their Young Womanhood awards at the same time.
During the year, the girls learned to make quilts and gave four quilts to the bishop to distribute to members of the ward. They organized an adopt-a-grandmother program where the girls chose an elderly lady to visit, care about, and bake goodies for. The girls have learned skills, shared talents and hobbies, and learned more about life.

Sometimes, however, boats aren’t necessary. In one village on the island, for example, Sammyo L., Vanessa W., Desleen L., Carleen M., Emtalyn W., and Jemi A. simply walk to the meetinghouse, where Emtalyn’s mother, Tasiana, teaches seminary. One topic that comes up often in class is the temple.

Tasiana, Emtalyn, and their family of 12 are preparing to go to the temple to be sealed. Because their assigned temple is more than 2,100 miles (3,380 km) away in the Philippines and transportation is expensive, going there has been a lifelong goal. As they talk in seminary about their dream that’s about to come true, the other students reflect on how they’ve made it their own goal to be sealed in the house of the Lord someday.

The following spring, Martin Harris traveled to Harmony with some bad news. His wife had filed a complaint in court, claiming Joseph was a fraud who pretended to translate gold plates. Martin now expected a summons to testify in court. He would have to declare that Joseph had fooled him, or Lucy would charge him with deceit as well.8
Martin pushed Joseph to give him more evidence that the plates were real. He wanted to tell the court all about the translation, but he worried people would not believe him. Lucy, after all, had searched the Smiths’ house and never found the record. And though he had served as Joseph’s scribe for two months, Martin had never seen the plates either and could not testify that he had.9
Joseph took the question to the Lord and received an answer for his friend. The Lord would not tell Martin what to say in court, nor would He provide him any more evidence until Martin chose to be humble and exercise faith. “If they will not believe my words, they would not believe you, my servant Joseph,” He said, “if it were possible that you should show them all these things which I have committed unto you.”
The Lord promised to treat Martin mercifully, however, if he did as Joseph had done that summer and humbled himself, trusted in God, and learned from his mistakes. Three faithful witnesses would see the plates in due time, the Lord said, and Martin could be one of them if he stopped seeking the approval of others.10
Before closing His words, the Lord made a declaration. “If the people of this generation harden not their hearts,” He said, “I will establish my church.”11
Joseph reflected on these words as Martin copied the revelation. He and Emma then listened as Martin read it back to check its accuracy. As they read, Emma’s father came into the room and listened. When they finished, he asked whose words they were.
“The words of Jesus Christ,” Joseph and Emma explained.
“I consider the whole of it a delusion,” Isaac said. “Abandon it.”12
Ignoring Emma’s father, Martin took his copy of the revelation and boarded the stagecoach for home. He had come to Harmony seeking evidence of the plates, and he left with a revelation testifying of their reality. He could not use it in court, but he returned to Palmyra knowing the Lord was aware of him.
Later, when Martin stood before the judge, he offered a simple, powerful testimony. With a hand raised to heaven, he witnessed of the truth of the gold plates and declared that he had freely given Joseph fifty dollars to do the Lord’s work. With no evidence to prove Lucy’s accusations, the court dismissed the case.13
Joseph, meanwhile, continued the translation, praying the Lord would soon send him another scribe.14

Boy, was it snowing now! Little snowflakes had fallen off and on all day, but up until now the roads had been clear. Grandpa’s ranch, where we were going for Thanksgiving, was on the Smithfork River. There are no major roads in that part of the Colorado Rockies, just little two-lane highways.
“Would you look at that cloud!” Dad’s voice startled us in the quiet car.
Connie and I scooted to the middle of the back seat and squinted between my parents. Looming in front of us, completely covering old Saddle Mountain, was a cloud as black as a cellar.
“I don’t think we’d better be on the road when that thing rolls off the mountain,” Dad said almost too quietly. “If I cut across Missouri Flats, we can be at Grandpa’s in thirty or forty minutes and maybe beat that thing.”
“But isn’t that a gravel road?” Mom asked.
“Yes, but I know it well, and it’s all snowpacked just like this.”
“Let’s just hurry, Mac. Only don’t have an accident.”
I alternated watching out the side windows and watching the monster cloud out the front. The wind started blowing, and when it came, it didn’t come all nice and gradual. It came like a wall and jolted the car. Suddenly the back of the car fishtailed, and we were all thrown to the passenger side. Dad immediately slid back under the steering wheel and restarted the motor, but we sank deeper into the soft snow despite all Dad’s efforts.
“Mac?” Mom’s voice was hardly a whisper.
“We’re OK,” Dad replied. “We have our lap robes to help us keep warm, and I don’t think we’re far from the old Dietche place. We ought to be able to go there for help if this doesn’t let up soon.”
“There’s a stockmen’s advisory and travelers’ warning for the mountain regions tonight and tomorrow,” the radio droned a half hour later. “The first major storm of the winter is descending on most of Colorado, with high winds and heavy snow expected—”
Dad snapped off the radio and grinned at us. “OK, this is going to be great!” He sounded exuberant. “This may be our grandest adventure yet.” (Whenever things went wrong, Dad called it an adventure.) “Just up the hill and off to the right is a sturdy barn belonging to Mr. Dietche. It’s nice and tight against the wind and probably has some hay in it. We can stay warm there for a long time. Lilly, hand me the flashlight and matches in the glove compartment, please. I’ll carry them. Connie, I want you to hold my hand with one of yours, and your mother’s with the other. Michael will hold Mother’s other hand; then you all follow me. Whatever you do, don’t let go of anyone’s hand. Do you understand me? Don’t let go for anything!”
We kind of dragged each other through the snow. Even Dad fell a few times. I don’t know how Dad found the barn. I didn’t see it until we were actually inside the half-open double doors on the sheltered side of the structure.
The barn was dark and smelled of musty hay and animals, but the wind didn’t blow through it. We shut the doors, and Dad flicked on his flashlight. Next to me something shuffled, heaved a sigh, and gave a terrible moan. I jumped, Connie screamed, and Dad spun his flashlight into the sober face of a brown and white cow. “Well, it looks like we have company,” he chuckled.
“She scared me,” Connie giggled.
Dad began to explore. Soon he shouted, “Hey, look what I found!” and started fussing with an object on the floor.
It was an old kerosene lantern, and it was almost full of oil. In a few moments a dim but steady light illuminated our surroundings. One entire end of the barn was filled with baled hay. The five stalls were large, clean, and empty, so the cow was apparently a temporary resident also.
“Look out below!” This time Dad’s voice echoed from the dark loft above. A large mound of hay whooshed onto the middle of the floor. Several smaller piles followed irregularly. The hay dust billowed through the barn, and we all started sneezing. Dad scrambled down the wood ladder, saying, “Now I need everyone’s help with the rest of our accommodations.” He was really having fun.
We hauled bales of hay into the middle stall and built a wall of them higher than its wooden ones. We found loose pieces of wood, laid them across the top, then covered them with armloads of hay. We spread more loose hay on the floor. When it was about two feet thick, Mom spread two lap robes on one side of the stall, crawled onto the far side of them, and lay down. “Come on, Connie—you next. When we’re all in, we’ll put the other two robes over us, then pull the rest of the hay on top to keep us warm.”
“This really is an adventure,” I laughed as I crawled in next to my sister. “Come on, Dad.”
“Just a minute. I’ve one more thing to do.”
The doorway darkened as Dad reappeared and backed into our homemade cave, leading the cow. “We don’t want her to get cold, do we?” he asked. “Besides, we need her body heat in here.”
The cow lay at the far side of the stall. Dad closed the stall door, turned the lantern off, lay down, and we all helped get the other lap robes and hay over us. It was real dark, and I could hear the cold wind blasting outside, but I was beginning to feel very warm and cozy.
“Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, …” Mom started to sing.
“But, Mom, it’s not even Thanksgiving,” I protested.
“No, but like Joseph and Mary, we’re travelers, too, Son,” Dad said quietly. “And this is a sort of stable, and we even have a cow. I think that it’s just the right kind of song for us tonight.”
Mom sang it again, then “Silent Night,” then a Spanish carol.
When I awoke, everyone was gone. “Mom! Dad!” I shouted.
“We’re all up here, Michael,” Connie yelled from the loft.
I groped around, trying to get out of the hay, and fell against the warm back of the old cow. She just looked around at me—sort of pleadingly, I thought—and didn’t even moo. I scrambled up the ladder to where my family stood. The loft door was open, and I could see that the snow had drifted so high that it was only a few feet below the loft floor. The wind had stopped, but huge snowflakes continued to fall rapidly.
“I’m hungry,” Connie complained.
Nobody had a satisfactory answer for that, so we just stared at the snow again.
“That bump over there must be our car,” Dad said as he sighted down his arm.
“There’s no way to get there right now, Mac,” Mom said.
“No, I suppose not.”
“There’s nothing to eat there, anyway, except two candy bars in the trunk. I was saving them for the ride home,” Mom added.
Just then the cow gave a long, low bellow.
“That’s it!” Dad cried. “You guys wait here. I have to see if I can find something.”
Mom began to smile, but she wouldn’t tell us what Dad was doing. We could hear him rummaging in the stalls and bins. After a while, he called, “Michael, come here. I need a hand.”
I scrambled down the ladder, feeling very important that Dad needed me. He was holding the cow’s halter with one hand, a bucket with the other.
“Come on, Mike, we’re going to get breakfast. Take this pail and ladle and clean them out with snow. This old girl is hurting. She needs to be milked, so we’ll help her and have some warm, fresh milk as our reward.”
I was sort of dubious, but milk did sound better than candy for breakfast. Besides, Dad had grown up on a farm and knew what he was doing. “OK,” I said, “I’ll get these as clean as I can.”
Soon the milk was pounding into the old bucket. As it rose in the pail, Dad adjusted his grip a little. “Milkers always develop a strong grip,” he said, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”
I was tired of watching and getting hungrier by the minute. I thought that if Dad would show me how, I could both help him and divert my thoughts from my own stomach. Boy—I learned fast just how strong a farmer has to be! Besides my hands cramping on me, my back began to ache from hunching over to reach the udder. I leaned my head against the cow’s warm flank. She didn’t move, and it helped ease my back.
When we were done, we put the cow into another stall with some more loose hay. Then we all sat on our blankets and bowed our heads while Dad thanked Heavenly Father that we were safe and warm and that we had this milk. He blessed it and also prayed that Grandpa and Grandma wouldn’t worry too much and that we might soon be with them. Then we all took turns drinking milk. Connie said that warm milk sounded yucky, but she drank more than anybody else—and I drank four ladlefuls!
The barn was really neat. I found another bucket, and we melted snow in it for us and the cow. I also found a broken file, a bridle bit, and an old currycomb. I brushed the cow real good late in the afternoon, after Dad and I milked her again. Dad said that you didn’t normally curry cows, but it was all I could think to do for her having given us her milk. Connie felt the same way, so I let her help.
The next morning it had stopped snowing, and Mr. Dietche came on his snowmobile, looking for his cow. He hauled us out on his snowmobile and a sled, and we were at Grandpa’s ranch in no time. Grandma had saved Thanksgiving dinner, so we had it that night, after Dad and I helped Grandpa milk his cows. The turkey and potatoes sure tasted good, but what I’ll always remember is the milk from our Thanksgiving cow.

This story took place in Jamaica.
Dashanel helped her older brother take the nut bread out of the oven. It smelled so good!
Then she heard a knock at the door. “The missionaries are here!” her sister called.
Dashanel ran to the door. She loved it when the missionaries came. She always had a good feeling when they visited. Sometimes they brought games for her and her siblings to play.
“Tyrell made nut bread again!” Dashanel said. Her brother liked to make food for the missionaries.
“I can’t wait to try some,” Elder Colas said. He and Elder Yusaki came inside and sat down on the floor. Dashanel, her brother and sister, and Mom sat across from them.
“What are we going to do for the lesson today?” Dashanel asked.
Elder Yusaki pulled out a stack of cups. “We’re going to build a faith tower. Each of these cups represents something we can do to build our faith in Jesus Christ.”
Elder Yusaki started to stack the cups into a tower. Dashanel saw that the cups had words like “prayer,” “scripture study,” and “church” written on them.
“These are all things you’ve asked us to do as a family,” she said.
“That’s right,” Elder Colas said. “When you do these things, you are building your faith in Jesus Christ.”
Dashanel and her siblings took turns building their own towers with the cups while they listened to the lesson.
After the missionaries left, Dashanel thought about what they’d taught. She wanted her faith in Christ to be tall and strong, just like the tower she built.
As the months passed, Dashanel learned more and more about the gospel from the missionaries. She started going to church with her family. She pictured her tower of faith growing taller and taller.
One day after the missionaries left, Dashanel talked to Mom. “Can I get baptized?” she asked.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” asked Mom.
“Yes,” Dashanel said. “I want to follow Jesus.”
“OK,” Mom said. “If you want to, you can be baptized.”
Dashanel’s brother and sister chose to be baptized too. Mom said she didn’t feel ready to get baptized yet.
On the day of their baptism, Dashanel and her siblings dressed in white clothes. They each waited patiently to be baptized.
When it was Dashanel’s turn, Elder Yusaki helped her into the water. Then he said the words of the baptism prayer and lowered her under the water. When Dashanel came back up, she couldn’t stop smiling! She felt happy and clean. She never wanted to forget this feeling.
Dashanel kept doing things to build her faith in Jesus Christ. She read the scriptures with her family. She prayed to Heavenly Father. She did kind things for others. And she remembered how she felt when she was baptized. She wanted Mom to have that feeling too.
“Mom, why don’t you get baptized?” Dashanel asked one day.
Mom was quiet for a minute. “You have set a good example for me. Now I need to set an example for you,” she said. “I want to be baptized too.”
On the day of Mom’s baptism, Dashanel was so happy. When Mom came up from the water, everyone was smiling. Now Dashanel’s whole family could build their towers of faith together.
Illustrations by Alyssa Tallent

One day Joseph played a game of ball with some of the young men in Nauvoo. The Prophet’s older brother Hyrum saw him. Hyrum had a great love for his brother, and he didn’t like to see people given a chance to find fault with him. Hyrum was afraid that if people saw Joseph having fun with the young men, they might think this wasn’t what a prophet should do.
After the ball game, Hyrum approached Joseph and said that such conduct was not proper for a prophet of the Lord. He spoke out of love, wishing to guide his brother.
The Prophet looked lovingly at Hyrum. He knew Hyrum was concerned about him, and he trusted and often listened to the advice of his older brother. But this time Joseph simply answered him in a mild voice. “Brother Hyrum, my mingling with the boys in a harmless sport like this does not injure me in any way, but on the other hand it makes them happy and draws their hearts nearer to mine; and who knows but there may be young men among them who may sometime lay down their lives for me!”
The Prophet Joseph was right. When persecution again started for him, two young men in Nauvoo risked their lives to discover the Prophet’s enemies and their plots against him. The young men showed how much they had come to love the Prophet by how much they risked their own safety for his. Joseph Smith dearly loved children, and they loved the Prophet too.

During my second college year on December 7, 1941, the United States was attacked at Pearl Harbor. The entire nation was aroused. Patriotism swelled to great heights. Every person was deeply affected. War was declared by Congress.
Many students at Weber State, myself included, elected to join the military service at once. I decided to join the Navy with the object of becoming a naval officer. An entire day was spent in the Naval Recruiting Office filling out forms for consideration. Little did I know that I would soon face one of the most serious character tests of my entire life. It pertained to my resolution to keep the Lord’s commandments, particularly that of being honest.
One of the last questions on the naval physical fitness questionnaire startled me. It simply asked whether I had ever had “hay fever.” I remember staring at this question for a long time. Why would hay fever be of any consequence at sea? How could pollen affect anyone on a ship? Why was I being asked such a question? It was evident that my answer could affect my being accepted or rejected as a candidate for officer consideration.
The simple truth was that I had experienced hay fever all of my life and sneezed very often. It would be so easy to mark no to this question since it would probably never come up again. However, marking no would be dishonest. It was a little thing, and yet a principle was at stake. With reluctance, I marked the space for yes and handed the paper back.
As suspected, the answer to that question became troublesome. The medical officer, upon seeing my answer, looked up and exclaimed, “Don’t you know that naval officers can’t have hay fever? You will have to take a special allergy test.”
When the results of my allergy test came back, the officer studied the form intently. The test showed that I suffered a considerable number of allergies. He then took my application forms, calmly tore them up, and threw them into a waste basket. I was astonished. I stuttered, stammered, and finally asked, “What shall I do now?” The officer calmly replied that the “draft” would take care of me and not to worry. Sick at heart, I went back to school, transferring to the University of Utah for the winter quarter. My sophomore preparation classes were completed while awaiting to be drafted into one of the services. That summer I began my junior year in the school of mechanical engineering. Then an announcement was released from Washington, D.C., indicating that all upper division engineering students were to be deferred from the draft until graduation. My graduation with a Bachelor of Science in mechanical engineering occurred in December of 1943, two years following Pearl Harbor.
The day following my graduation, I again presented myself to the naval procurement office in Salt Lake City and indicated that I had just graduated from the school of mechanical engineering at the University of Utah and showed them my degree. When they learned I was interested in becoming a naval officer, I experienced “red carpet” treatment. The officer in charge told me that there were naval ships in dry dock because of the lack of engineering officers and technically trained personnel. A direct commission as an ensign was offered that day. This would be followed by a two-month indoctrination school.
Before accepting this commission, I told the officer that something had to be made clear. He was surprised. He asked me what was on my mind. I flatly stated, “Sir, I suffer severe hay fever. What do you think of that?” The officer laughed. He said that at one time it was a consideration, but not anymore. He told me to forget it, and to please sign my acceptance of a commission as an ensign. This I did.
The ship to which I was later assigned with four other officers and 50 enlisted men was the USS LSM 558. It was our understanding that this ship was destined for the invasion of Japan. We prepared ourselves for departure, but orders never came. Instead, we were given orders to patrol on the Atlantic Coast from Boston to Florida. We later learned why. Two atomic bombs were dropped on cities in Japan. The war was soon over. I left the Navy in 1946 to pursue my career, first in engineering and then in architecture.

When I was in an elders quorum presidency, we worked with several less-active families. In a personal interview with one couple, I asked, “Isn’t it about time you went to the temple with your family?”
I couldn’t believe their answer: they said yes.
We cried.
They were asked to speak about their “conversion” in a Saturday evening session of stake conference, and as they expressed their love, I cried. I thought I had used up all my tears by the time we went to the temple—until I saw them and their beautiful daughters kneel at the altar and be sealed for time and eternity.

I had the privilege to serve as the secretary of my deacons quorum. I recall the many assignments we members of that quorum had the opportunity to fill. Passing the sacred sacrament, collecting the monthly fast offerings, and looking after one another come readily to mind. The most frightening one, however, happened at the leadership session of our ward conference. The member of our stake presidency who was presiding called on a number of the ward officers to speak. They did so. Then, without the slightest warning, he stood and said, “We will now call on one of our younger ward officers, Thomas S. Monson, secretary of the deacons quorum, to give us an accounting of his service and to bear his testimony.” I don’t remember a single thing I said, but I have never forgotten the experience or the lesson that it taught me. It was the Apostle Peter who said, “Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”5
In an earlier generation, the Lord gave this promise to holders of the priesthood: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.”6
This is not a time for fear, brethren, but rather a time for faith—a time for each of us who holds the priesthood to be his best self.

Gabe was in the kitchen, but he could hear Mrs. Cole at the front door talking with Mom. “I don’t know how it happened! I just noticed little scratches all over my car door, and they weren’t there this morning.”
Gabe’s heart sank. He hadn’t meant to mess up Mrs. Cole’s car. He’d been playing in the dirt next to Mrs. Cole’s driveway. He was just drawing in the dirt with a stick. But soon he found himself using the stick to draw lines up and down on the back door of the car, fascinated with how the tiny lines looked in the paint. He thought they’d go away if he just brushed over them with his hand—like the lines he made in the dirt—but they didn’t.
Gabe heard the door shut as Mom walked outside to see the scratches. He had to think fast—there wasn’t much time.
He ran upstairs to his room, shut the door, and plopped onto his bed. He closed his eyes and felt his heart thumping. Slowly he lifted his head. He glanced at the photo of Grandma on his bookcase. He was glad she didn’t know what he had done. Grandma was always honest and had taught him to be honest too. When she was young, she decided she would never tell a lie so that others would always believe her.
Slowly Gabe slid off the bed and walked over to Grandma’s picture. He wanted to be someone people could believe too. He pulled out his jar of coins. He’d been doing extra chores to earn money for a toy he really wanted. If he told the truth, he’d have to give up the money he’d saved to help fix the car.
Gabe wanted to be honest, but he didn’t want to get in trouble. He didn’t want Mom and Mrs. Cole to be mad at him. Besides, no one had seen him scratch the car. He could just say he didn’t know what happened. But that thought made him squirm inside. He knew that even though no one had seen him, Heavenly Father and Jesus knew. He couldn’t lie to Them. He didn’t want to lie to Them.
He slowly walked down the stairs to the front door. He heard his mom outside asking his older brother if he knew what had happened to the car. Gabe straightened his shoulders and stepped outside.
Mom turned as he walked toward her. “Gabe? Do you know how Mrs. Cole’s car got scraped up?”
Gabe took a deep breath and said, “I did it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your car.”
Mom put her hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “Thank you for being honest,” she said quietly.
She turned to Mrs. Cole and said, “We’re so sorry Gabe scraped up your car. We’ll pay for the damage.”
“I’ll help earn the money,” Gabe said quickly.
He thought about the hard-earned money in the jar on his dresser. He wished he’d never picked up that stick. But he also felt relieved. It hadn’t been easy, but he had been honest! Gabe knew Grandma would be proud. And Heavenly Father would be happy too.