Gospel Story Finder

Let me ask each of you to picture two crystal goblets in your mind. They differ in size and shape. They are both of good quality and have been well used. One has been carefully kept in a china cupboard. It is clean and polished. It is warm and inviting in appearance. It sparkles in the light and is filled with clear water.
The other glass is coated with grime. It has not been in the dishpan for a long time. It has been used for purposes other than those for which it was made. Most recently it has been left outside in the weather and has served as a flowerpot. Although the flower is gone, it is still filled with dirt. It is dull and unbecoming in the light.
Is not each of us like a crystal glass? We vary in size and shape. Some of us radiate a special spirit. Some are dull and uninviting. Some fill the measure of their creation. Others do not. Each is filled with the accumulated experiences or debris of a lifetime.
Some contain mostly good things—clean thoughts, faith, and Christian service. These hold wisdom and peace. Others enclose dark and secret things. Over time they have filled with unclean thoughts, selfishness, and sloth. They often hold doubt, contention, and unrest.
Many know they are not living up to their potential but for various reasons have procrastinated making changes in their lives. Some long for they know not what and spend their lives in a haphazard pursuit of happiness.
These, in a way, are like the crystal goblet which spent part of its existence filled with dirt. They sense that there is a higher purpose to things. They become dissatisfied and begin to search for meaning. First they look outside themselves. They sample the pleasures of the world. As they do they discover, much as did the snail who set out to look for its house, that after arriving at wherever they were going, they are no closer than before to the object of their search.
Ultimately, they look within. They have really known all the time that this was where to find peace. Sin, you see, is not just a state of mind. Wickedness never was and never will be happiness. (See Alma 41:10.) They discover that if they are not righteous they can never be happy. (See 2 Ne. 2:13.) They resolve to change. Then they are confronted, figuratively, with the problem of how to turn a weathered flowerpot into a sparkling crystal goblet. Questions are asked: Can I ever be forgiven? Is it really worth the effort? Where do I begin?
In the case of the glass it is easy to understand what to do. We begin by recognizing a better use for the crystal. A convenient place for dumping the unwanted contents is selected. The dirt is left there. The goblet is carefully washed with high quality detergent to remove the stains and residue. It is lovingly polished and placed once again in the company of other crystal glasses in the china cupboard. It is put back into use and cared for regularly.
There is a similar process whereby men and women are purified. The misuse of their lives is forgotten, and they are renewed and changed. This principle, of course, is repentance. When accompanied by authorized baptism, it provides not only an initial cleansing but an ongoing remission of sins as well. Participating in this purifying process is perhaps the most thrilling and important thing we can ever do. It has far-reaching, even eternal, consequences. Of more immediate interest, however, the rewards of repentance are peace and forgiveness in this present life.
Let me illustrate what all of this means. A few years ago I was asked to speak to a group of young men. I don’t remember now exactly what was said, except that near the end I made the statement that no one, but no one, present had done anything for which he could not be forgiven.
After the meeting was over one of them came up to me and said, “I just have to talk to you.” Inasmuch as I soon had another appointment, I asked if it could wait or if someone else could answer his question. He replied that he had already waited many years and that it was very important to him.
So taking advantage of the few minutes available, we found a little unused classroom, went in, and closed the door. “Did you really mean it? Did you?” he asked.
“Mean what?” I said.
“The part about how none of us had done anything that could not be forgiven,” he replied.
“Of course I did,” I said.
Through his tears his story came. He was of goodly parents. All of his life his mother had told him that he was going on a mission. Before he turned nineteen he was involved in serious transgression. He didn’t know how to tell his parents. He knew it would break their hearts. He knew that he wasn’t worthy to serve a mission. In desperation, he began to look for an excuse not to go. He decided to take up smoking. He felt that his father could understand that better and would not probe for the real reason. Smoking would hurt his parents, he rationalized, but not as deeply as the truth.
He soon found, however, that the bishop wasn’t put off by his use of tobacco. The bishop told him to just stop it and go on a mission anyway. So to get away from the bishop, he entered the military service. There he fell under the influence of some good Latter-day Saints. He stopped smoking. He was able to avoid major temptations. He served his time, received an honorable discharge, and returned home.
There was only one problem. He felt guilty. He had run away from a mission. He had run from the Lord and sensed somehow that gnawing discontent which comes when men do not live up to the purpose of their creation.
“So there you have it,” he said. “I have not sinned again. I have attended my meetings. I keep the Word of Wisdom. Why is it that life seems empty? Why do I feel somehow that the Lord is displeased with me? How can I know for sure I have been forgiven?”
“Tell me what you know about repentance,” I said.
He had obviously done some reading on the subject. He spoke of recognition, remorse, and restitution. He had resolved never to sin again.
“Let’s see just how those principles apply to you,” I said. “Let’s begin with recognition. What is the best indicator that someone recognizes he has done wrong?”
“He will admit it,” was his reply.
“To whom?” I asked.
He was thoughtful. “To himself, I guess.”
“Men sometimes view themselves in a most favorable light,” I said. “Wouldn’t better evidence of awareness of wrongdoing be to tell someone else?”
“Yes, of course,” he answered.
“Who else?” I insisted.
“Why, the person wronged,” he said, “and … and maybe the bishop.”
“Have you done this?” I asked.
“Not until now,” he replied. “I’ve never told it all to anyone but you.”
“Maybe that is why you have not ever felt completely forgiven,” I responded.
He didn’t say much.
“Let’s look at the next step,” I said. “What does it mean to feel remorse?”
“It means to be sorry,” he answered.
“Are you sorry?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I feel as if I had wasted half my life.” And his eyes filled again with tears.
“How sorry should you be?”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
I said, “Well, in order to be forgiven, a transgressor must experience godly sorrow. (See 2 Cor. 7:10.) He must have anguish of soul and genuine regret. This sorrow must be strong enough and long enough to motivate the additional processes of repentance, or it is not deep enough. Regret must be great enough so as to bring forth a changed person. That person must demonstrate that he is different than before by doing different and better things. Have you been sorry enough?” I asked again.
He hesitated. “I’ve changed,” he said. “I’m not the same as I was before. I keep all the commandments now. I would like somehow to make it up to my parents. I have prayed for forgiveness. I apologized to the person I wronged. I realize the seriousness of what I have done. I would give anything if it hadn’t happened. Maybe I haven’t been as good as I could be, but I don’t know what else to do. But I didn’t ever confess to anyone.”
I said, “I think after this meeting we can say you have even done that.”
Then he said, “But after all of that, how can I ever know the Lord has really forgiven me?”
“That is the easy part,” I replied. “When you have fully repented, you feel an inner peace. You know somehow you are forgiven because the burden you have carried for so long, all of a sudden isn’t there anymore. It is gone and you know it is gone.”
He seemed doubtful still.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said, “if when you leave this room, you discover that you have left much of your concern in here. If you have fully repented, the relief and the peace you feel will be so noticeable that it will be a witness to you that the Lord has forgiven you. If not today, I think it will happen soon.”
I was late for my meeting. I opened the door and we went out together. I didn’t know if we would ever meet again. The following Sunday evening, I received a telephone call at my home. It was from the young man.
“Brother Howard, how did you know?”
“How did I know what?” I asked.
“How did you know I would feel good about myself for the first time in five years?”
“Because the Lord promised he would remember no more,” I said. (See Heb. 8:12.)
Then came the question: “Do you think the Church could use a twenty-four-year-old missionary? If they could, I would sure like to go.”
Well, that young man was like one of the glasses we spoke about. He had been out in the world and was partially filled with the wrong things. He was not content. Sin had clouded his vision and interfered with his potential. Until he could find a way to repent, he could never become what he knew he should be. It took time to change. It took prayer. It took effort, and it took help.
My young friend discovered that repentance is often a lonely, silent struggle. It is not a once-in-a-lifetime thing; rather, it lasts a lifetime. As President Stephen L Richards once said, it is an “ever-recurring acknowledgement of weakness and error and [a] seeking and living for the higher and better.” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1956, p. 91.)
This young man came to know that repentance is not a free gift. Just as faith without works is dead (see James 2:17)—so repentance, too, demands much. It is not for the fainthearted or the lazy. It requires a complete turning away from wrongdoing and a set of new works or doings which produce a new heart and a different man. Repentance means work. It is not just stopping doing something. It is not just recognizing the wrong or knowing what should be done. It is not “a cycle of sinning and repenting and sinning again.” (Hugh B. Brown, Eternal Quest, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1956, p. 102.)
It is not only remorse; rather, it is an eternal principle which, when properly applied over sufficient time, always results in renewal, cleansing, and change.
The young man we have spoken about discovered that where sin is so serious as to jeopardize one’s fellowship in the Church, the sinner must be willing to submit to the jurisdiction and judgment of the person who holds the custody of his Church membership and request forgiveness of him as well.
Most important of all, he learned that repentance is an indispensable counterpart to free agency. Free agency in the plan of salvation contemplates that men and women are free to choose the direction of their lives for themselves. Repentance means that as imperfect beings sometimes make imperfect decisions, they may correct their course. By following the rules of repentance, and through the atonement of Jesus Christ, mistakes don’t count. The Lord agrees to “remember no more.” (Heb. 8:12.) Because of the miraculous gift of forgiveness, transgressions are forgiven—and forgotten. Men can be cleansed and return to the path of purpose and progress and peace.
By repenting, my young friend became a new person. He was born again of the Spirit. He came to understand for himself, and that is the important thing, the meaning of the Savior’s words: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 11:28.) I so testify, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Michael J. Parry, 17, of Orem, Utah, applied direct pressure to a laceration on his sister’s arm, controlling bleeding until paramedics came. “It was frightening to see my sister lying hurt and to know she could die. I kept praying she would be all right, and when I heard the ambulance, I had a burning sensation in my heart that told me she would be okay. I think the Lord was directing me the whole time in order to save her life.” Mike is in the Orem 47th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, and is a member of Post 1447.
All of the Scouts had advice to offer to others who might find themselves in emergencies. “I would never have thought it would happen to me,” Mike Parry said. “I think people should be ready for things like this and get proper training in advance because things like this will happen.”
“I found the experience to be very humbling,” Brother Crockett said. “I feel that through the Church programs the Lord provides for us, including Scouting, that I was prepared to act in this emergency.” Mike Parry said, “It strengthened my testimony to know that the Lord helped me to be in the right place at the right time.”

May I relate to you my first journey along a personal Jericho Road. In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found wind-up model train, but rather one that operated through the miracle of electricity.

The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train. For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track.

Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a wind-up train for Widow Hansen’s boy, Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received.

However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car which was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.

Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.

Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”

I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”

As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars which belong to your train.”

Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.

Mother and I left the Hansen home and slowly walked up the street. She, who with her hand in God’s had entered into the valley of the shadow of death to bring me, her son, across the bridge of life, now took me by the hand and together we returned homeward by way of our private Jericho Road.

Some remember mother for her rhymes recited, others for her music played, songs sung, favors bestowed, or stories told; but I remember best that day we together traveled our Jericho Road and, like the good Samaritan, found a cherished opportunity to help.

As I have pondered how we might best provide such examples, I have thought of an experience I had some years ago while attending a stake conference. During the general session, I observed a young boy sitting with his family on the front row of the stake center. I was seated on the stand. As the meeting progressed, I began to notice that if I crossed one leg over the other, the young boy would do the same thing. If I reversed the motion and crossed the other leg, he would follow suit. I would put my hands in my lap, and he would do the same. I rested my chin in my hand, and he also did so. Whatever I did, he would imitate my actions. This continued until the time approached for me to address the congregation. I decided to put him to the test. I looked squarely at him, certain I had his attention, and then I wiggled my ears. He made a vain attempt to do the same, but I had him! He just couldn’t quite get his ears to wiggle. He turned to his father, who was sitting next to him, and whispered something to him. He pointed to his ears and then to me. As his father looked in my direction, obviously to see my ears wiggle, I sat solemnly with my arms folded, not moving a muscle. The father glanced back skeptically at his son, who looked slightly defeated. He finally gave me a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders.
I have thought about that experience over the years as I’ve contemplated how, particularly when we’re young, we tend to imitate the example of our parents, our leaders, our peers. The prophet Brigham Young said: “We should never permit ourselves to do anything that we are not willing to see our children do. We should set them an example that we wish them to imitate.”

I live in Tucson, Arizona, with my parents, my brother Stephen, my grandfather Juan, and my great-grandmother Maria. As a member of the Sonora Ward in the Tucson Arizona Stake, I have enjoyed many opportunities to magnify my callings in the Aaronic Priesthood. I have helped clean yards of the elderly and others unable to take care of their homes. I have also helped clean the church cemetery and ballpark. But what has helped the most in learning to honor my priesthood was an experience I had in helping my own family.
One summer my aunt and uncle left my four young cousins with my parents. I was asked to baby-sit them much of the time. During those months, I had the interesting experience of learning how to change diapers and fix lunches as well as figure out ways to keep my little cousins from getting into trouble. The first few days were hard on all of us, but by the end of the summer, we were all enjoying ourselves and doing well. I learned to appreciate what parents have to teach their children, and by the end of the summer, I felt a greater love for my cousins than I’d ever felt before.

At the suggestion of another Bible translator, I tried an experiment. I attempted to read the scriptures for a week in my second language instead of my native language of English. I didn’t do it even for a week. The Bible became so uninteresting that once I set it down, I couldn’t pick it up again. The reading was difficult, and subtle distinctions in wording did not make sense. I learned that my appreciation of the scriptures was tied to being able to read them freely and thus think about them freely.

When my son Joseph was twelve years old, he traveled with me to Kenya in east Africa. We flew into Nairobi, which is the capital city, then traveled by four-wheel drive vehicle into the area inhabited by the Masai—a friendly, happy, beautiful people.
When we arrived in the village, Joseph suddenly found himself surrounded by thirty or forty Masai children his own age. The children were laughing, a smiling, and talking to him, trying hard to overcome the enormous cultural and language barrier.
Our guide explained that we were in a remote area, and that although these children had seen white men before, Joseph was probably the first white boy they had ever seen.
I could tell Joseph wanted to be friendly, so I handed him a chocolate bar.
“Give them a piece of candy,” I said.
He opened the package and broke off a square. He tried to hand it to a boy who seemed about fourteen years old. I will never forget the reaction of that boy. He looked at the chocolate and drew back. He didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
So I said, “Show them that you eat it.”
Joseph put a square of chocolate in his mouth, then handed another square to this same fourteen-year-old boy. The boy looked at it and held it. He was suspicious as he friend to understand it. Then he took the first, tiniest little bite, then a larger bite; then he put the whole piece in his mouth. You could see the joy come over his face as he tasted chocolate candy for the very first time.
Then we handed out pieces of chocolate to all the other children, and they weren’t afraid to try it because they’d seen someone they knew eat it and he had enjoyed it. There was something wonderful about that chocolate.
Later in our trip, we came back to that same village. As soon as we arrived we were surrounded by the same group of children, and we didn’t need a translator to know what they wanted. They wanted more chocolate, more of something wonderful and sweet.
I would like to compare the taste of that chocolate bar to the taste of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Although the gospel tastes sweet and wonderful and good, sometimes other people don’t understand it, and it’s hard to get them to take just a tiny bite. But if they’ll take that bite, and then a larger bite, they will arrive at a marvelous moment when they place it in their mouths and taste the wonderful sweetness.
I think that we, as members of the Church, are much like my twelve-year-old boy was, surrounded by a world of people who want more of something they don’t even understand. I believe that many of the prayers of the people on this earth can only be answered by the members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Lord has given us the mandate to take the gospel to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. We can’t say, “They might not understand.” We must help them. There is nothing that will be sweeter to them than the gospel, nothing that will bless them more than the knowledge of the truth.
We have something wonderful and sweet, something much more vital than a chocolate bar, something that affects everyone for all eternity. We have tasted the gospel, and we know it is good. We cannot and we must not ignore the opportunity to help others taste it, too.

Right after the accident, my sister Nicole showed up with her friend on another four-wheeler, and two boys who saw us crash quickly drove up on their four-wheelers.
“My dad’s a nurse!” one boy said. While he called his dad for help, Nicole and her friend hurried back to our camp to get my dad.
That morning, nurse Mike Staheli had planned to head home from a weekend campout with some friends. But they felt prompted to stay one more day. I’m thankful they did.
While Mike gave me first aid and checked my vital signs, someone called for an ambulance. Mike feared that I had broken my arm and femur, cracked several ribs, and that I was bleeding internally.
Mike said the ambulance from a nearby town would likely arrive first, but my condition was serious enough that I should be airlifted to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City, Utah. A medevac helicopter was also called for.
When my dad and his friend Hector saw me, they knew I needed a priesthood blessing. My dad asked me, “Do you have faith in the power of the priesthood? Do you have faith that the Lord can help you and heal you?”
“I do have faith, Papá,” I told him. But at the same time, I wondered, “What if I don’t have enough faith?”
My dad anointed me, and Hector blessed me. As soon as the blessing began, my breathing slowed, I calmed down, and I felt warmth even though it was cold outside. I knew then that I did have enough faith and that I was going to be fine either way.
When the ambulance arrived, paramedics cut off my favorite soccer shirt and checked my vital signs. They had stabilized. The helicopter arrived a few minutes later.
When the helicopter landed at the hospital, I was rushed inside. Nurses and doctors began examining me and doing lots of tests, including an MRI. My dad and I expected the worst, and so did they.
But they found nothing! No broken bones, no internal bleeding, no sign of concussion. My leg still hurt a lot, though.
“This is a miracle!” a nurse told me. Later, one doctor said, “OK, Alan, looks like you can go home tonight.”
I was like, “Really?”
Because I still had a hard time walking, I stayed in the hospital overnight. I left the next morning with only a brace on my left wrist. A few weeks later, I was training again for soccer.
I wonder what would have happened if my dad and Hector hadn’t held the priesthood. I could have been a lot worse off. That day I realized how important the priesthood is. I learned that faith in Jesus Christ and the power of the priesthood can do miraculous things.
I also learned that priesthood holders have to be good examples. If we have the priesthood but choose to do things that are wrong, we show that we do not respect or honor God’s power. But when we set good examples, we show others that we honor the priesthood and know that the Lord can work miracles through us.
I’m grateful for my family and for the Church. I always think about the sacrifices my parents have made for me and my brother and sisters. They think about us first. My dad recently hurt his knee playing soccer and can’t work. A lot of people, especially from the Church, have blessed us with food and other things we need. To keep my faith strong, I pray every morning, go to seminary, and read scriptures every night with my family. That really helps me.
Alan on a walk with his family a few months following his accident.
Since my accident, I often think about how much God has blessed me. Every time I have a problem now, the first thing I do is go straight to Him. I feel that if He loved me enough to bless and help me through my accident, He can help me through anything.
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Age 16. From Santa Ana, Argentina. Likes reading, listening to music, and writing poetry.
A little while ago, I started visiting my local library and noticed that it wasn’t in great condition. The librarian is an older woman, and people don’t always take great care of the books they check out.
I am a Young Women class president in my branch, and some of the young women and I went to the library on a Saturday to organize one of the bookshelves. We put books people hadn’t checked out in a while in boxes to be donated. Then we organized the rest of the books alphabetically.
The librarian was very grateful for our help. She even brought us yummy pastries called criollitos. I think our service helped improve her perception of the Church.
There are still a lot of other shelves to organize, so I decided to submit my project to JustServe. Now people in my city can find the project on JustServe and volunteer to help.
The scriptures say that Jesus Christ went about doing good (see Acts 10:38). Maybe my project didn’t have a huge impact on the world, but for the librarian and people who come to the library, it made a difference.
“For the librarian and people who come to the library, it made a difference.”

Luis bounced up and down in the back seat and sang a silly song. “Please settle down, Luis,” Dad said. “I need to focus on driving.”
“I can’t settle down,” Luis said. “It’s just so awesome!”
Dad smiled. “I’m glad you’re excited to meet your new baby brother.”
When they got to the hospital, Luis raced to Mom’s room. He knew where it was because Mom had been there for five days already. She had to stay at the hospital because Baby Ian was sick, and Mom was a little bit sick too. Luis had asked to see Ian at least a bajillion times, but Mom always said, “Not yet.” She said that the doctors would decide when Ian was strong enough for a visitor.
Today the doctor had called. Today was the day!
When Luis walked into Mom’s hospital room, she was already holding Ian. Luis ran over to see his new baby brother. Ian was tiny. He looked way smaller than Luis’s baby cousins. And there was something different about his nose and ears. He looked like a little elf!
“Hi, honey,” Mom said. “Come wash your hands, and then you can hold the baby.”
Luis washed his hands with special soap. He climbed onto the hospital bed next to Mom. She leaned over to hand him the baby. Dad helped Luis put his hands in just the right place.
Luis looked down at Ian. “Hi, Ian,” he said. “I’m your brother, Luis. You’re going to sleep in my room, and I can show you all my toys, and we can play at the park.”
Baby Ian looked right at Luis. Luis thought he was the best baby ever.
When Luis’s arms got tired, Dad took a turn holding Ian. Mom held one of Luis’s hands and looked into his eyes.
“Luis,” she said. “Do you remember in Primary when you learned about the plan of salvation?”
Luis nodded. That had been a good day. Sister Lopez had a moon and a star and a big planet earth on sticks. Luis got to hold the sun.
“Do you remember how we lived in heaven before we came to earth and how we are going back to heaven when we die?”
Luis nodded again.
“Baby Ian is still very sick. And the doctor says that he won’t live very long. He is going to die soon and go back to heaven.”
Luis looked at Mom. He looked at Baby Ian in Dad’s arms. Then he frowned. His throat felt tight. “But I love him. I want him to stay here and share my room and play with me. Doesn’t he want to stay too?”
Mom put her arms around Luis. “Of course he wants to be with us. We’re his family. But he will see us again.”
“He will?”
Mom nodded. “Dad and I were married in the temple. We were promised that our family could be together forever. You and Ian will always be our children.”
“That means that Baby Ian will always be your brother,” Dad explained. “And you’ll see him again in heaven.”
Luis was sad. He felt kind of mad too. But he thought about meeting Baby Ian in heaven and smiled just a little. He reached out and rubbed Baby Ian’s soft hair. “We’ll be brothers in heaven? That’s awesome.”
Mom kissed Luis’s cheek. “It is awesome.”

Usually Manuel liked market day in Manila. He liked the happy sounds of the market place. He liked the way the bright sun gleamed on the baskets of flowers, the shell jewelry, and the shoreline of the Manila Bay. But today he was not happy.
“Our neighbor, Aling [Mrs.] Sion, is ill and I must care for her,” his grandmother had said. “We need money for food, and so the flowers must be sold. I have no one but you, Manuel, to take them to market.”
Manuel had started early, so early that the sun was not yet peeking over the mountain tops. He trudged past the little lake, half hidden among dense trees. When he reached the dusty trail to Manila, he joined crowds of people carrying huge baskets of flowers.
Manuel grumbled to himself as he walked. “I hope Jose doesn’t see me.” Jose was a boy from Manuel’s village. Jose was a bully and lately he had chosen Manuel to pick on. Shaking his head as if to cast the thought from his mind, Manuel made his way to Grandmother’s usual place next to Aling Finay.
Aling Finay looked at him curiously. “You are the flower seller today?” she asked.
He explained politely, “Grandmother could not come.”
“You must arrange the flowers nicely,” said Aling Finay.
“Just as she would do,” Manuel agreed.
He set out the pink and yellow daisies, the beautiful red roses, and the big white lilies. Then he stepped back to admire his work. The arrangement wasn’t quite as good as he had hoped, but he didn’t know how to improve it. He was sure Aling Finay would have helped him if she had not already been busy with her customers. All Manuel could do was just wait and hope someone would buy from him.
When the first rays of the sun slanted over the palm-leaf roofs of the village, Manuel heard the clatter of horses hooves on the cobblestones. The men and boys were coming with coconuts, bananas and firewood. Jose will probably be with them! Manuel drew back into a corner, wishing he could hide and forget all about selling flowers.
Suddenly Aling Finay exclaimed, “See! There is Jose strutting into the square. He means trouble for somebody.”
Manuel’s heart seemed to turn upside down. He knew by the way Jose was grinning that he had already caught sight of him. Manuel scrambled to his feet. Only the thought of Grandmother’s disappointment if he came home empty-handed kept him from running away.
Jose stopped in front of him. “Ho!” he scoffed as he grabbed a handful of daisies, tore them to pieces, and threw them on the ground. “See Manuel selling weeds!”
Anger rose inside Manuel as he remembered how hard Grandmother had worked to make her flowers grow beautiful and strong. Forgetting to be afraid, he stepped close to Jose and shouted, “Stop!”
“Out of my way,” Jose ordered, giving him a fierce push.
Manuel sprawled headlong on the cobblestones. He heard Jose’s mocking laugh as the bully went on across the market place. Manuel picked himself up, rubbing his bruises.
That Jose is a bad one,” muttered Aling Finay, her dark eyes flashing. “Still you are fortunate. He might have done much worse.”
Manuel eyed his torn shirt sadly. “It is so. I hope he does not come back.”
The day passed and the shadows grew long. Finally the sun drew its light below the far horizon. Manuel’s heart was glad. He had sold all the flowers, and many coins jingled in his pockets.
Grandmother will be happy, he thought. But now I must hurry to get home before dark. Suddenly Manuel shuddered. Suppose Jose is lurking somewhere along the way!
But in spite of his misgivings, Manuel started up the dusty trail to his village. The breeze was cool after the heat of the day, and he could feel it through his torn shirt as he plodded along.
Manuel was passing the little lake among the trees when a cry nearby made him stop short. He stood still to listen. “Perhaps it was only the wind,” he said at last. “Or a late-singing bird.”
Then he heard the sound again.
“Help!”
Quickly Manuel ran to look between low-hanging branches. Several yards from the bank, he could see someone holding tight to a log and struggling wildly in the water.
“Jose!” Manuel gasped.
He hesitated for a moment. But no matter what Jose had done, Manuel knew he had to try and save him.
As he pulled off his shirt and trousers, Manuel called, “Hold on, I’m coming.”
The bigger boy was not easy for Manuel to help. Jose was strong, and now he was fighting in panic. Once he nearly pulled Manuel under the water.
It took all his strength, but slowly and deliberately Manuel worked his way to shore. When they finally reached it, he and Jose slumped down, exhausted and shivering.
When Jose found enough breath, he mumbled, “Many thanks to you, Manuel.”
“Why were you swimming, Jose?” Manuel asked. “It’s almost dark.”
Jose ran his fingers through his wet hair. “My feet were weary. I meant only to wade a few minutes, but I stepped into a deep hole.” Then he added embarrassed, “I cannot swim. Lucky for me that you can.”
“And that I came along at the right time,” Manuel agreed.
Jose hung his head. “I have often done wrong. There are many people who would have let me drown.”
“Had I done that, I too would have been doing wrong,” Manuel replied.
“I am ashamed I have been cruel. I am sorry I knocked you down,” Jose went on. “You are brave. I would like to be your friend.”
Manuel smiled and began pulling on his clothes. “Come then, friend,” he said, “it is not far to our homes. We will walk together.”

Eight young men of the Cleveland Ward, Kingwood Texas Stake, decided to all get their Eagles before the age deadline made several of them ineligible. They made a decision to work and accomplish this goal together. Only tragedy interfered with their goal.
All eight boys were active in key roles in school, sports, and at church. They were all on target progressing toward their Eagles. Stanley Neal, one of the group, died. The remaining seven, although shaken, regrouped and worked harder than ever. Then Andrew Fager and Michael Tompkins drowned on a family outing. Both boys had only to complete their Eagle projects to earn their badges. Five boys and their leader were grief stricken to lose their good friends. They had made a pledge, and these tragedies seemed to spur them on. They all submitted their applications together. Benny Dale, Raymond Hebert, Lance Hill, Allan Neal, and L. Paul Stinson earned their Eagles.

I experienced the powerful good that a senior missionary couple can do firsthand when I lived in Louisiana, USA. Soon after being called to serve on the New Orleans Louisiana Stake high council, I was assigned to support the Port Sulphur Branch. There were only a few active priesthood brothers in the branch. Most teaching and leadership positions were filled by women whose husbands were not members. Occasionally, senior missionaries or stake leaders were assigned to the branch, but they had limited success in reaching these part-member families.
Then a senior couple from Wyoming, USA, was assigned to support the branch. They had been farmers for many years and had worked in a local cheese factory near their home. Because of their background and life experience, they related easily to many people in Port Sulphur who worked in the oil industry. The senior couple spent a great deal of time building relationships with and ministering to the part-member families in the branch. Because of their service and love, during their time in Port Sulphur the branch was uniquely strengthened and blessed through their faithful service. Several men from these part-member families joined the Church, strengthening the elders quorum and the branch.

While raising our young family in Hawaii, my wife and I were grateful for the wonderful Latter-day Saints who assisted us. These dear members embraced us and treated us as their own family. On several occasions men in the ward would take my young son on ocean fishing adventures. These excursions did not involve boats but rather ancient fishing techniques developed by the early Hawaiians.
Using one such method, a skilled fisherman would meticulously fold and layer a circular net that had weights attached to the perimeter. He would then carefully carry the net to a location along the rocky shore above a clear pool of water. As he would see fish entering the pool, at just the right time and with great skill, he would throw the net, which would unfold to its full capacity and land in a large circular pattern on the water below, quickly sinking to the bottom and enmeshing the gathered fish.
While the skill of any such fisherman is impressive, he will be the first to tell you that without a good net that is clean, mended, and in full repair, his efforts would be futile. Experienced fishermen know that their success is contingent upon the integrity of their fishing nets and that effective, productive fishing does not begin until the nets are inspected and in good order.
We see an understanding of this principle among the original Apostles, several of whom were fishermen by trade. We are introduced to these fishermen in the early chapters of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, where they are casting, mending, and washing their nets when they first encounter their future Master (see Matthew 4:18, 21; Mark 1:16, 19; Luke 5:2). These men fed their families and the families of others by toiling daily to catch fish. Their fortunes and their families depended on their preparation and skill and on the integrity of their nets.
When Jesus invited them to “follow me, and I will make you fishers of men,” “they straightway left their nets,” “forsook all, and followed him” (Matthew 4:19, 20; Luke 5:11; see also Mark 1:17–18).
I have thought of this example many times as I have considered that those who stand at the head of the Church have responded with similar faith to the invitation to “follow me.” Like the ancient Church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is led by prophets and apostles, who have forsaken their nets and their hard-earned professions and have developed new skills in order to serve and follow the Master.
What does it mean to become “fishers of men”? In His simple words of invitation to the early Apostles, the Savior introduced what was to become His common and powerful form of teaching—teaching in parables. He knew that those called to follow Him would understand, to a degree, what He meant by the words “fishers of men.”
President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) taught, “To become ‘fishers of men’ is just another way of saying ‘become leaders of men.’ So in today’s language we would say … : ‘If you will keep my commandments, I will make you leaders among men.’”1
A leader of men is someone who is called to help others become “true followers of … Jesus Christ” (Moroni 7:48). Handbook 2: Administering the Church says, “To do this, leaders first strive to be the Savior’s faithful disciples, living each day so that they can return to live in God’s presence. Then they can help others develop strong testimonies and draw nearer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”2
All who have accepted the call to lead in the Church have accepted the Savior’s invitation to become fishers of men.
From the highest level of leadership in the Church to Aaronic Priesthood quorum and Young Women class presidencies, leaders are organized into councils. Leaders are instructed to prepare spiritually, participate fully in councils, minister to others, teach the gospel of Jesus Christ, and administer the priesthood and auxiliary organizations of the Church. Additionally, they are to build unity and harmony in the Church, prepare others to be leaders and teachers, delegate responsibility, and ensure accountability.3
Just as the early Apostles applied their knowledge of fishing to become fishers of men, we can apply the principles found in their use of nets to the councils of the Church. Like a net, these councils are organized and prepared to gather Heavenly Father’s children—each council member acting as an important and integral strand of the net. Just as a net is effective only if it is in good repair, so are our councils compromised when council members are not organized, focused, and functioning as they should.
Leaders of councils follow the example of the ancient Apostle fishermen by regularly inspecting and mending these “nets.” Council leaders do so by providing regular training, leading out in council meetings, giving timely and appropriate feedback to council members, and offering love, encouragement, and praise. There is no substitute for the effective strength and gathering capacity of properly functioning councils.
Perhaps the council with the greatest opportunity to influence individual members of the Church is the ward council. Men and women in this council are truly called to be fishers of men with the charge of leading the work of salvation in the ward, as directed by the bishop. They live and serve in their respective wards, where they can know and associate with those they have been called to lead.
“Members of the ward council strive to help individuals build testimonies, receive saving ordinances, keep covenants, and become consecrated followers of Jesus Christ (see Moroni 6:4–5). All members of the ward council have a general responsibility for the well-being of ward members.”4
Members of ward councils play an integral role in hastening the work of salvation. When the ward council is not functioning as it should, the work slows. The gathering capacity of the “net” is compromised, and council efforts yield limited results. But when the ward council is organized and focused on strengthening individuals and families, the results can be astonishing.
I am familiar with a ward that struggled with an ineffective ward council. It was difficult for the bishop to embrace the direction found in Handbook 2 because he was comfortable in his ways and liked his old patterns. After much counseling and training by a loving stake president, however, the bishop softened his heart, repented, and began in earnest to organize the ward council as instructed. He watched training videos available at LDS.org, he read sections 4 and 5 of Handbook 2, and he acted upon what he learned.
Members of the ward council quickly embraced the changes, and a spirit of love and unity settled on them as they focused on strengthening individuals and families. In every meeting, they spoke at length about investigators, new converts, less-active members, and members with needs. Their hearts began to be drawn out to these brothers and sisters, and miracles began to happen.
The bishop reported that almost immediately after these changes were made to the ward council, previously unknown less-active members began to attend church. These members said they suddenly felt moved upon to return to the Church. They said they had received a clear and compelling impression that they needed to once again associate with the Saints. They knew they would be loved and that they needed the support members would offer.
The bishop shared with me that he is certain Heavenly Father was just waiting for him to follow the counsel he had received and organize the ward council as instructed before He could put the desire into the hearts and minds of these less-active members to return to activity in the Church. The bishop realized that he needed to create the loving, nurturing environment these members needed before the Spirit would lead them back. His words remind me of the experience of Peter the fisherman:
“And [Jesus] entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
“Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
“And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
“And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes” (Luke 5:3–6).
As we listen to and follow the counsel given us by modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators—true “fishers of men”—and as we inspect and mend our nets while serving, our capacity to hasten the work of salvation will be greatly increased and we will become instruments in Heavenly Father’s hands to gather His children.

Bradley pedaled along the gravel bike path through the park, pumping hard and spraying gravel as he turned the corners. In a few minutes the school tardy bell would ring. He had been late twice already this month, and if he was late again, the school would call his mother. He just couldn’t let that happen.
His father had died when he was two years old, and since then he and his mother had lived alone. She worked the early shift at the hospital so that she could be home with him in the afternoons and evenings, but it meant that he had to get ready for school by himself and make his own breakfast. They had decided that an eleven-year-old could manage those things on his own. If the school called Mom at work, she’d be disappointed and worried. She might even hire Sister Williams again to help him get ready for school.
Suddenly Bradley skidded to a stop next to a black leather wallet, thick with papers and cards. It took him only a moment to scoop it up, slip it into his backpack, and be on his way.
Some early-morning jogger or someone taking a walk must have dropped the wallet, he decided. A fat wallet like this must contain lots of money. He thought about how tired his mother was after her shift at the hospital and about how little money they had after she paid the rent and bought food and clothes. They seldom had anything extra nice. Take his old bicycle, for instance. Mom had been so excited to find it at a garage sale so that he could have a motocross bike like everyone else that he could never tell her how much teasing he got because it was so battered and scratched. His mother’s birthday was just two days away, and even more than he wanted a new bicycle, he wanted to give her a really nice birthday present.
He shoved his bike into the rack in the school yard and hurried inside, dropping into his seat just as the bell rang. During recess, Bradley went into one of the cubicles in the lavatory. He dug the wallet out of his backpack and opened it. His fingers trembled as he took out the bills: twenty, forty, sixty—sixty dollars! He stuffed the money back inside and pulled out some cards, searching for a driver’s license. When he found it, the picture of a woman stared back at him. She had big brown eyes and wavy hair, her name was Maryann Foster, and she lived not very far from him. A heavy feeling started in his stomach as he wondered if Mrs. Foster had a son. He put everything back into the wallet and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Finders-keepers, he thought. But there was a tight feeling in his chest.
When Bradley got home after school, he tiptoed into the house and hurried to his room to hide the wallet. He sat down on his bed and thought about the birthday present that he could buy. For some reason, though, he didn’t feel happy.
He worked on his homework until his mother called him for supper. He kissed her and sat down at the table.
"How was school?" she asked.
"OK, I guess."
"You sound unhappy. Did something happen at school that you want to talk about?"
"No, not really," he replied. "Mom, what would you like for your birthday?"
"Oh, Bradley, I know that you don’t have much money, so I don’t want you to worry about my birthday. Just having you is like getting a present every day."
"What if I told you that someone gave me some money?" Bradley felt his face grow red. The wallet was making him lie, and suddenly he hated it.
"Did someone give you some money?" his mother asked.
When he looked at his mother’s worried face, Bradley had to tell her the truth. "No, but this morning on my way to school I found a wallet. It has sixty dollars in it. I want to buy you a present."
"Finders-keepers?" his mother asked.
"I thought that we probably need the money more than anyone else. You’ve always said that I should pray for what I need, and I’ve been praying for a long time for some way to buy you a really nice present." Tears started to run down his cheeks.
"Do you think that if you really need it, that it’s all right to keep something that isn’t yours?" Mom asked in a quiet voice.
"No. I tried to tell myself that it was finders-keepers, but I didn’t really believe it. All I wanted to do was buy you something nice."
"I know, honey," said Mom, "but there’s a better present that you can give me than one bought with money."
Bradley got up and gave her a hug, then went upstairs to get the wallet.
After supper they started walking to Mrs. Foster’s. When they found her address, Bradley opened the gate, went up the sidewalk bordered with late-summer flowers, and rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and Bradley recognized Mrs. Foster from her picture. Clinging to her legs and staring at him shyly were two small children, and she had a baby in her arms. She looked tired, and there were worry lines creasing her forehead.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Uh … my name’s Bradley. This morning on my way to school, I found this, so I’m returning it to you." He held out the wallet.
The woman stared at him a moment, speechless. Then her face crumpled, and she started to cry. "I’m sorry," she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the corner of her apron. "Won’t you please come in?"
When they were sitting inside, Bradley noticed that the furniture was old and that all the toys on the floor were in bad shape.
"Oh, Bradley," said Mrs. Foster, "I’m grateful that you are honest. When I couldn’t find the wallet, I didn’t know what to do. I’ve been praying all day that whoever found my wallet would return it to me. Thank you for answering my prayer."
Later, as they were walking home, Mom asked, "When Mrs. Foster tried to give you some money for a reward, why didn’t you take it?"
"Well, I decided that I didn’t really need the money so much. When I first found the wallet, I thought that it was the answer to my prayer. But I’m happier now to have been the answer to Mrs. Foster’s prayer. I think that she needs the money more than we do."
"Oh, Bradley," said Mom, hugging him. "I’m proud of you! You really are the best birthday present that any mother could have!"

One school year I began to feel weighed down from the stress of life. During one of these stressful days, I prayed and read the Book of Mormon for 10 minutes. As I read, I felt an incredible warmth fill my heart. I felt loved, uplifted, and happy despite my trials. I felt an incredible peace I had never felt before. From this experience I finally understood what the Savior meant when He said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you” (John 14:27). The next few weeks, I had this experience multiple times, and it propelled me to move forward through my struggles.
Chloe K., age 18, Wisconsin, USA

My family moved a lot while I was growing up. Adjusting to new places was difficult, but by my freshman year of high school, I loved where we lived. Everything changed, though, when my grandpa passed away and my parents decided to move closer to my grandma. I dreaded moving again. I’d worked hard to get involved at school and make friends.
I became resentful and argued with my parents about moving. My parents encouraged me to pray about it. I tried but didn’t receive any answers. Despite my frustration, I decided to pray one more time. Before I could start, I heard a clear voice in my mind say, “Rachel, you aren’t getting an answer because you don’t want one.” I was stunned. After a moment, I began to pray differently. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father and asked what He needed me to do.
The feeling I received was that my family needed to move. After humbling myself and accepting what Heavenly Father wanted, I felt at peace. It wasn’t always easy, but I knew we were where the Lord needed us to be. This experience helped me draw closer to my Savior and to move closer to becoming the person He needs me to be.
Rachel H., Washington, USA

A medical doctor in a village in Nigeria had a dream in which he saw his good friend speaking to a congregation. Intrigued, he traveled to his friend’s village on a Sunday and was astonished to find exactly what he had seen in his dream—a congregation called a ward being taught by his friend, who was their bishop. Impressed with what he heard in repeated visits, he and his wife were taught and baptized. Two months later over 30 others in their village had also joined the Church, and their clinic had become the meeting place.

At first, some youth presenters had no idea what a family history conference was, but they, along with other youth presenters, soon learned and were inspired with ideas of how to teach and share their technology skills with the older generation. They embraced the opportunity to be involved and willingly found time in their busy schedules to serve. Andrew P., 17, helped by sending emails encouraging youth to invite their friends to the conference. He says, “I learned that it is important to balance your schedule and to fulfill your assignments on time.”

Years ago a friend of mine went to a large university to study under the ranking authority in the field of counseling and guidance. This professor quickly took an interest in this personable, intelligent young Latter-day Saint. He attracted attention as he moved through the course work required for a doctor’s degree.
He chose the Latter-day Saint bishop as the subject for his dissertation. All went well until he described the ordination of a bishop, the power of discernment, and the right of a bishop to spiritual guidance.
His doctoral committee felt that such references had no place in a scholarly paper, and they insisted that he take them out. He thought he might at least say that Latter-day Saints believe the bishop has spiritual insight. But the committee denied him even this, for they would be quite embarrassed to have this spiritual ingredient included in a scholarly dissertation.
He was told that with some little accommodation—specifically, leaving out all the references to revelation—his dissertation would be published and his reputation established.
He did the best he could. His dissertation did not contain enough about the Spirit to satisfy him and too much to be fully accepted by his worldly professors. But he received his degree.
I asked this friend what was the most important thing he had learned in his study of bishops. He answered, “I learned that the mantle is far, far greater than the intellect, that the priesthood is the guiding power.”