Gospel Story Finder

For example, in wartime missed messages between commanders and soldiers at the front have resulted in great confusion and serious loss of life. In World War I the 308th Infantry was ordered to the front in a desperate attempt to take and hold part of the Argonne Forest at any cost. The battle was so fierce that the supporting troops on the right and the left of one battalion withdrew, and the battalion was surrounded and isolated. Because headquarters lost communication with them, they became known as the Lost Battalion.
The battalion communicated with headquarters by carrier pigeons that flew from the battalion’s location to headquarters with messages. However, as soon as these pigeons were released, they were shot down by the opposing forces. The Lost Battalion’s own artillery, not knowing where they were, opened fire on their position and inflicted heavy casualties. The battalion ran out of food and water, but they held their ground and did not surrender despite their great losses. Finally, one carrier pigeon called Cher Ami, even though it was shot, got through to headquarters carrying the message that identified the battalion’s location. The survivors of the battalion were rescued because that one crucial message got through.

Did you ever have to take care of a grown-up? I’ve done it many times. Every Saturday my sister and I take turns going to my grandmother’s house. Grandma has dementia, which means she forgets a lot. Because her condition has been getting worse, she can’t be left alone. A few years ago, she was taking me to the store. Now I take her. But I don’t mind. I love Grandma, and we still have a lot of fun together.
Today was my turn to be with Grandma. She shuffled into the living room. “How do I look?” she asked. “You didn’t have to help me get dressed today.”
Grandma’s red jacket didn’t really match her bright pink blouse and brown pants, but I was happy she had been able to dress herself. “You always look good to me, Grandma.”
Grandma smiled. “So, where are we walking today?”
“The shoe store. Mom said you need new walking shoes.”
“Oh,” she said. “Can we go to the doughnut store too?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling. Going to the doughnut store was the one thing Grandma never forgot to do.
Half an hour later, Grandma sat patiently as the shoe salesman helped her try on her new shoes. When the salesman went to find a different size, Grandma whispered, “You know, Noreen, I think these shoes are ugly.”
“You’ve never complained about them before, Grandma.”
“Well, they’re not as pretty as those,” she insisted, pointing to a pair of high-heeled shoes on display.
“We are supposed to buy walking shoes,” I reminded her. “You can’t wear high heels to go walking.”
Grandma lowered her eyebrows and scrunched her nose, but she didn’t say anything else.
When the salesman returned, Grandma tried on the shoes, stood up, and walked around. “Ah,” she sighed. “My feet feel wonderful in these shoes.”
“So you like them?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Don’t I always like these shoes?”
Sometimes Grandma contradicts herself. But it doesn’t upset me. I know she can’t help it.
After the salesman boxed up the new shoes, he walked to the cash register. I opened my wallet to find the money Mom had given me. “I’ll go pay now, Grandma. I’ll be right back,” I said.
The salesman was very busy, and I had to wait several minutes before I could pay. When I walked back to Grandma’s seat, she was gone. Her old shoes were still lying on the floor. I quickly scanned the store, but I couldn’t see her. I started feeling very nervous. “Has anyone seen my grandmother?” I yelled.
“A woman with a red jacket walked out the door a few minutes ago,” someone said.
I darted out the door. I hoped I’d find Grandma looking at the pretty shoes in the store window, but she wasn’t there. Just then I saw Grandma walking toward me.
“Grandma!” I cried. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I was so worried!”
“I’m sorry, Noreen. You know, I did the silliest thing! Please don’t be angry, dear.”
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I was just scared.” I sat down on a nearby bench.
Grandma looked off in the distance. “After I got outside, I realized I didn’t have any shoes on,” she explained.
“I’m just glad I found you,” I said.
We went back inside for her shoes. As we walked home, I noticed Grandma’s shoulders were slumped and her head was down. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Everything! I hate all this forgetting business,” she said. “But I just can’t help it.”
“You’re doing all right,” I said. “Everybody forgets now and then.”
“Not like this! Forgetting my shoes, forgetting this, forgetting that!”
“You could be doing much worse, you know. For instance, what do you always put on first, your blouse or your jacket?”
Grandma glanced at me with her bright eyes twinkling. “You’re being silly.”
“No, I’m not! Can you imagine if you put your blouse on top of your jacket?”
“Then I’d really be in bad shape, I guess,” Grandma said as she gave my arm a playful nudge.
“Would you like to go for a walk in the park today?” I asked.
“Sure, but can we go to the doughnut store too?”
“Of course.” I held her hand to cross the street. “Don’t we always?”
Like I said, I don’t mind taking care of Grandma. Sometimes it can get a little interesting. But most of the time, we just enjoy each other’s company.

Another young man lived on the outskirts of a large metropolitan area. There were no lights or water in the thin-walled, modest structure that served both as a home and a small shop. After his family’s conversion he attended seminary and developed an insatiable desire to learn. With great effort he entered the university, working part-time to buy books as well as to help support the family. When the desire to go on a mission became overwhelming, he had to double his efforts to save money for his mission. So he carried his books under one arm and his bag of wash rags, wax, and sponges in the other. Between classes he would go out and wash cars, then return for another class. The Lord blessed him with work. He multiplied his income until his leaders felt he had made the necessary sacrifice to help sustain himself.

There are scores of others, each one a lesson to all in the principle of obedience and sacrifice. A young lady with a great desire to fill a mission was counseled to buy ingredients, make cookies, and sell them at school during lunchtime. She did so. Then she bought more flour, baked more cookies, and continued this process for weeks, making a small amount of money each day to help toward her mission.

Are there not thousands of you listening today who are ready to match these two precious years of a young man’s life with sufficient additional funds from your abundance so that he can have the privilege of service? In this way, could you not become “nursing fathers and mothers” to these children of promise?

I call this matter to your attention for two reasons: First, time is of the essence! We need to get moving with the things of real import. The world must hear the gospel. Paul asks: “How shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? and how shall they preach, except they be sent?” (Rom. 10:14–15.) And I ask, how shall they be sent today without sufficient means?

The second reason is the Lord counsels rather specifically about the wise use of property. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.)

Jacob counsels:
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves, and be familiar with all and free with your substance, that they may be rich like unto you.
“But before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.
“And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches … to clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted.” (Jacob 2:17–19.)

I know a young man who was thrilled to be selected for an all-star basketball team to play in a tournament in another state. The first evening at the hotel, the other roommates decided to watch pornographic movies. This boy left the room and walked the city by himself well into the night until the movies were over. I am sure it was embarrassing, lonely, and challenging. But that is courage; that is manhood in its truest sense. And I say, “Behold a man!”—an 18-year-old boy turned man. I know hundreds of young men who have withstood ridicule and embarrassment to turn down drugs, alcohol, and sex in order to turn to serve one another, provide a righteous example, or defend the principles of righteousness. All young men must face the wiles of Satan. It is impossible to escape this fight. But it is always possible to come out victorious. Yes, a true man is strong enough to withstand the wiles of Satan.

On a Sunday in August 2014, as I sat in the compound of our residence reading a book, I noticed a group of people my age being led by someone older in white shirt and ties approaching me. There were about seven of them, and I felt uneasy. I soon realized that the men who stood in front of me were the young men of my ward, being led by the quorum president.
All I wondered was what they were doing there. They were very happy to see me. They told me they had missed me and that the Lord needed me in His fellowship. They spoke to me about passing the sacrament and other youth activities. They then encouraged me to come to church.
I had not been active in the Church for about two years since my baptism in 2011, and I felt I had lost my path in the things of the Lord. Throughout all those times, I felt there was nowhere to look for help, nor anyone to extend a hand of assistance and that there was no turning back for me. I always had the desire to return to the Lord but often felt it was too late. When I arrived at church for sacrament meeting the following Sunday, I felt both shy and ashamed, but everyone greeted me lovingly with smiles. It was then I realized that the Lord had just used the selfless hearts of my fellow young men in a reactivation effort as a wake-up call to return one of His lost sheep to His fold.
I am filled with gratitude for the noble and selfless men out there, like the young men who visited me on that day, who are also putting in all their efforts to call upon other members who have fallen away from the faith. Indeed, He remembers His children, wherever they may be. Today I am at the point of completing my mission, having been used as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to bring many to the light of the gospel. It has been such a wonderful experience for me and I am grateful I heeded the call to return to church.

The cry of a newborn infant pierced Sarah’s sleep. Quickly she sat up on her sleeping mat and looked across the dimly lit room where she saw the midwife gently rubbing a tiny baby with oil and salt.
“Such a shame! Another false treasure,” the woman muttered.
“I hope my husband will not be too disappointed,” Sarah’s mother said as she watched the midwife wrap the baby in swaddling clothes.
Sarah knew what a false treasure was. After all, wasn’t she one herself? It was the name Jewish people gave to girl babies. If Sarah’s new little sister had been a boy, her family and friends would have celebrated for seven days. But it wasn’t to be. Sarah’s heart felt so heavy that she didn’t want to remain in the one-room house any longer. She slipped on her robe and sandals and tiptoed to her mother’s side.
“It’s almost dawn,” she whispered. “May I meet Father’s boat and tell him about the baby?”
“Perhaps you should,” Mother said with a tired smile. “I think he would like to hear it from you.”
Sarah looked down at the baby who was resting in her mother’s arms. Her tiny head was covered with black hair, and her dark eyes blinked solemnly.
“She’s very beautiful. Will you tell your father that?” Mother asked.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah promised, her eyes filling with tears as she hurried from the mud-brick house.
Sarah continued to run until she reached a grassy knoll that overlooked the Sea of Galilee. There she threw herself down on the grass and waited. The hills around her were silent and dark against the sky. Ahead in the distance she could see lights winking on the horizon. She wondered if they were the torches that the fishermen used to attract the fish. Sarah hoped her father had caught many silvery fish in his nets. Maybe a good catch will help ease his disappointment at getting a second false treasure, Sarah thought.
She tried to shake her sadness by remembering that at least she and her sister had been allowed to live. If they had been born in another country, they might not have been so fortunate. Traders who passed through Galilee, selling linens and spices, had told many stories about what happened to girls who were born in foreign lands. Still, it was a painful feeling knowing you weren’t really wanted.
Now Sarah could see the fishing vessels heading homeward across the ruffled water. When her father’s boat docked at last, she leaped to her feet and skittered down the hillside to the beach.
“Father! Father!” she called to him as she ran.
Her father turned toward her. “What is it, Sarah?” he asked.
“Did you catch many fish?”
“Yes, I did,” he replied, laughing at her through his full beard. “But I do not think you got up at dawn just to ask me that.”
“No,” Sarah said quietly, and she began kicking at the sand. “I came to tell you that the baby has been born.”
“No wonder I had such a lucky night at sea!” her father said, giving Sarah a hug that swept her off her feet.
“But the baby is a false treasure, Father,” she said, searching his eyes.
“Is she healthy?” he wanted to know.
“Yes,” Sarah said.
“And your mother? How is your mother?” he asked.
“She is all right. She said to tell you that the baby is very beautiful.”
“And you, my Sarah? Are you sad because the baby is a false treasure?”
“I am sad for you, Father. You have no son to head your family when you grow old,” Sarah said. “Why can’t a daughter do that? Why does she have to be the false treasure?”
Father sat down on the sand and pulled Sarah down beside him. “Do you know why our people call a girl that?” he asked.
Sarah shook her head.
“It’s because she will marry and leave home when she is thirteen,” he explained. “She will live with her husband’s people, for that is our way.”
“But that isn’t her fault,” Sarah pointed out. “She didn’t make those rules. A girl isn’t allowed to do important things like making rules. And why is she called false when she spins and weaves and draws water and cooks and cleans?”
“Enough!” her father said, smiling and covering his ears with his rough hands. “You’ve convinced me. A girl is a treasure of great worth.”
“You’re teasing me,” Sarah said.
“No, I’m not,” Father said, growing serious.
“Then why don’t you let me head your household for you?” she asked. “I would try to do a good job.”
“I can’t,” he answered. “It is a son’s place to do that, but you have taught me something this morning, Sarah. You, your mother, and your sister have important jobs to do. I know I’ll never call a girl a false treasure again.”
“Then neither will I,” Sarah said.
“You know, Sarah, when the day comes for you to leave home,” Father said, “I will give you away proudly.”
“Why?” Sarah asked, puzzled.
“Because I know I will be giving your husband someone very special.”
“Will you feel that way about my sister too?” Sarah asked.
“If she’s only one-tenth as precious as you, I am sure I will,” Father answered lovingly.
Sarah smiled up at him. She thought that the sun rising above the hills of Galilee had never looked lovelier.
“Do you have time to see the baby before you take care of the fish?” she asked.
“I shall make time,” Father said. “It’s not every night that God sends us a baby. Besides, we must help your mother think of a name for her. A beautiful treasure has to have a beautiful name, doesn’t she?”

I gained a testimony of the Prophet Joseph when I was a boy. In the summer of 1960, when I was 11 years old, President David O. McKay dedicated our ward chapel in Salt Lake City. I felt a compelling desire to be at that dedication. I went early and got a seat at the front of the chapel. When President McKay walked down the aisle and up onto the stand, I was a few feet from him. I remember his eyes, his bearing, and his voice. I listened to him speak, and I listened to him pray. Through the power of the Holy Ghost, I knew in my little-boy heart that David O. McKay was the prophet of God. I also knew that there was an unbroken chain linking President McKay to Joseph Smith. My testimony of David O. McKay was a testimony of Joseph Smith and all the prophets in between. Since that day, every time we have sustained a new prophet, I have received that same witness: this is the prophet of God; he stands where Joseph stood.

After President Hardy died we had a memorial service for him. I’ll never forget the native who was up speaking, saying what a calamity it was to the mission to lose this great New Zealand missionary who could do so much for them as one of the Authorities of the Church.

He was talking along that line, and all of a sudden he stopped and he looked around at me and said, “Wait a minute. There’s nothing to worry about, not a thing to worry about. When President Cowley gets home he’ll fill the first vacancy in the Council of the Twelve Apostles, and we’ll still have a representative among the Authorities of the Church.” Then he went on talking about President Hardy. When I arrived home the following September I filled the first vacancy in the Quorum of the Twelve. Did that just happen by chance? Oh, I might have thought so if it had been one of you … that had prophesied that, but not from the blood of Israel. Oh no, I could not deny, I could not doubt it.

Three friends play in the sandbox. Brynn drops pebbles into a bucket and hears “plink, plunk!” Brynn shakes the bucket. “Rattle, rattle!” say the pebbles. Ezra scoops sand with his shovel. “Shoosh, shoosh,” goes the sand. Mia taps the side of the sandbox with two sticks. “Tap, tap!” beat the sticks. The three friends play a song. “Rattle, rattle!” say the pebbles. “Shoosh, shoosh,” goes the sand. “Tap, tap!” beat the sticks. “What should we call our song?” asks Brynn. “How about ‘Sandbox Sounds’?” says Ezra. “Perfect!” says Mia. “Rattle, rattle, shoosh, shoosh, tap, tap!” sings the sandbox.

Two years ago, Brother Bradley Jones* from South Africa decided to quit his full-time job, take the plunge, and start his own consulting business. The months that followed were, in his own words, “intense.”
With little capital saved up, he was under pressure to turn a profit almost immediately. In addition to that, he had a family to take care of: grocery bills, school fees, a car instalment, and a mortgage on his house to pay. Before long, the family found themselves struggling to make ends meet. “When it was rough, it was incredibly rough. It made me question myself: ‘Did I get an answer from the Lord about starting my business?’” says Bradley. “‘Am I lying to myself?’”
But through that “spiritually affirming” experience, Bradley learned a wealth of lessons. Today, he shares some of the ways in which he and his family have learned to manage their money in the true spirit of self-reliance.
Involve the Lord in the details. “I was very, very prayerful in all of my financial decisions,” says Bradley. “That allowed me to feel safe about the choices I was making, even though I was taking substantial risk. I felt like I had the Lord’s sanction. Without that, I don’t think I could have been as confident.”
Ask the Lord to help you recognise the difference between needs and wants. “We tried really hard to follow the Spirit in terms of what to let go of and what not to,” says Bradley. “That’s difficult, because there are no hard and fast rules as to what’s a reasonable standard of living. Allow the Lord to tell you what your needs versus your wants are.” After much prayer, the family decided to sell their house in order to help pay off debt.
Counsel together as a couple. “This experience was an affirmation of the importance of being on the same page as a couple,” Bradley says. “These decisions can’t be made in isolation. It’s easy as a business owner to say, ‘Hey, I’m making business decisions,’ but they spill over into your personal life and your family bears the brunt of them.” Because Bradley and his wife made financial decisions together, “my wife was always fully supportive of the risks I took.”
Drastically downscale your lifestyle, if that’s what it takes. “Make sure that you live within your means, whatever your means are, and change your lifestyle as drastically as you have to in order to do so,” says Bradley. “Never sustain a lifestyle on credit. If you can’t pay for something now, then wait until next month. Don’t count on money before it’s in the bank.”
Don’t think you’ll be the exception to the rule. “If it takes the average business three to five years to be profitable, it is arrogant to think that you can do it in one,” says Bradley. “Accept that there are things you don’t know. If it takes everyone else five years, it will take you five years too.”
The family now follows a strict monthly and daily budgeting practice. They take their monthly earnings and deduct all their fixed monthly payments: tithing, rent, school fees, insurance, car payments, and so forth. “Then we are left with an amount with which we must fill the variables—including the groceries and petrol,” Bradley explains. “We divide that amount by 31 to come up with a daily cash allotment. We see that as the amount we earn each day. We follow the principle of “you can’t spend money you haven’t earned.”
The family uses an app, but you could use envelopes with cash inside them: anything that helps you break down your income into daily amounts. They stick to this principle rigidly: “if you want to buy pizza tonight, but you know you need to buy petrol tomorrow, then you forego the pizza,” he says.
As we are “faithful over a few things,” the Lord will make us “ruler over many things” (Matthew 25:21).
Following this level of financial discipline has helped Bradley see the hand of the Lord in his life. “When I do my very best to do everything in my power: to be disciplined and take ownership of my situation, then the Lord performs miracles,” he says.
*name has been changed

The flame in the kerosene oil lamp flickered and Mrs. Sheridan looked anxiously to see if all the oil was gone. She knew that the jug in the cupboard contained only enough kerosene to fill the lamp one more time.
As the flame settled, Mrs. Sheridan continued checking her supplies: the big sugar container was empty, the cornmeal was gone, there was perhaps enough flour in the barrel for one more batch of bread. As Mrs. Sheridan replaced the lid on the flour barrel, she gave a long, deep sigh.
Jed, who had just turned ten years old and who was supposed to be asleep, knew why his mother sighed. Just this afternoon he had brought in the last of the carrots and potatoes from their storage. He watched his mother as she turned the wick of the lamp lower and lower until the light was gone.
Jed waited for mother to get into bed. Instead, by the pale moonlight that shone into the room under the lower edge of the window curtains, he could see mother hunched over the table. He knew she was crying. It was not loud crying, because she wouldn’t want father to know she was crying. She always smiled for father and said funny things to make him laugh and think everything was going all right.
It hurt Jed to see his mother cry, although he knew she had many things to cry about. Father was too ill to get out of bed and needed a doctor, and the winter food supply was gone. Father had told mother not to worry when they had given a large supply of flour, sugar, bacon, and potatoes to a hungry Indian family. He had said he’d hitch up the horses and wagon and take a day or two to go to the store for more supplies. But then father had become ill, and though every day he said that in a day or two he’d be well enough to go for supplies, he seemed to be getting worse.
Carefully, so as not to disturb his two younger brothers, Jed slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and placed a hand gently on his mother’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, mother,” he said encouragingly. “It’ll be all right. We’ll manage somehow.”
“Oh, Jed!” mother whispered. “I didn’t know you were awake. Jed, maybe you and I could drive to the store for supplies. Do you think you could ride Bess at the head of the horse team and guide her across the river while I handle the reins?”
“Sure I could!” Jed replied bravely, though deep inside he was frightened. Even in the summer when the river was not so high—with father riding Bess and mother holding the reins for the team—it was scary. The river was wide and swift, and there were only a few places where it was safe to cross.
“Good,” said mother. “I knew I could depend on you. We must make it there and back in a day. We’ll leave before dawn tomorrow. Come, now, we must get some sleep.”
Mother quietly tucked the covers more snuggly around little Rachel as she slept in her cradle, then slipped into bed.
Just as quietly Jed crossed the room and climbed into bed beside his sleeping brother.
Although Jed knew the day ahead would be a long, tiresome one, he could not sleep. He thought of the river with its splashing, whirling eddies and its swift undercurrents. He remembered how firm father had to be with Bess as he directed her to lead the team to the opposite shore. Jed thought about how cold and icy the water would be as it splashed on his legs.
Then a different thought came into Jed’s mind: Why don’t I ask the Lord to help me? Why don’t I pray and ask for courage so that I won’t be afraid?
Once more Jed slid from the warmth of his bed and knelt on the cold floor to pray. He asked Heavenly Father to bless him that he would not be afraid of the river, that he could manage Bess as father did, that he and mother would have a safe trip to the crossroads and home again, and that father and his little brothers would be taken care of while he and mother were gone. With a feeling of quiet peace, he crawled back into bed and slept.
It was still dark when mother awakened Jed. He dressed quickly in the shivery cold, and he and mother went outside together to hitch the horses. And together, with teeth chattering, they returned to the cabin. Mother kissed father good-bye. Jed gathered up the bearskin robe for their feet, the quilts for their shoulders, and their meager lunch of bread and dried fruit.
It was midmorning when they came to the river crossing. Seeing the river again and listening to its angry rushing and splashing, Jed was afraid all over again.
Mother looked fondly at Jed. She knew the task ahead would be a hard one for him, but she knew of no other way to obtain the supplies. “Think we can get across?” she asked.
“Sure,” replied Jed, jumping from the wagon. “Sure we can.”
But as Jed stood on the sandy riverbank, the river noises suddenly became a mighty roar. His heart began to thud like a pounding hammer, and he had a difficult time climbing onto Bess’s back.
I can’t do it, he thought. I just can’t. But even as his courage seemed to fail, he remembered the sweet, peaceful feeling that had come to him in the night as he had prayed. And so, sitting on Bess at the edge of the river, he prayed again. “Please help me, Heavenly Father, to not be afraid. Please help us to cross the river safely.”
Again the fearful feeling left Jed, and his heart stopped pounding. The river no longer sounded like an angry beast. As the horses stepped into the river, it almost seemed that father was with him—helping him, guiding him, telling him what to say and do. Though at times the water splashed against his feet and legs, Jed did not seem to feel the cold. Sooner than Jed expected, the wagon was being pulled onto the sand of the opposite shore.
“Good boy!” exclaimed mother, as Jed climbed back onto the wagon seat. She tucked the bearskin robe around his feet and wrapped a quilt around him. “You did just as well as father! Just as well!”
In a short time they pulled up in front of the store at the crossroads. Mr. Callihan, the storekeeper, came to the door. “If it isn’t the Sheridans!” he called. “How nice it is to see you. Haven’t seen any of you since last fall. With the river as rough as it is now, I didn’t expect to see any of you until later in the spring. By the way, where is Mr. Sheridan?”
When mother explained, Mr. Callihan promised to let the doctor know about Jed’s father. Then he patted Jed on the back and said, “You’re a fine lad, Jed! I wouldn’t mind having six boys like you.”
“Nor would I,” replied mother with shining eyes. “I don’t know what I would do without him.”
“Come in now,” continued the friendly Mr. Callihan. “Let’s get your supplies. You’ll be wanting to hurry back to that sick husband of yours and the little children.”
When at last the wagon was loaded with flour, sugar, beans, bacon, dried prunes, cornmeal, potatoes, carrots, apples, kerosene, medicine for father, and a sackful of candy, the Sheridans headed for home. As they rode along, they talked about how good it was to have the wagon filled with good food and other necessities. How happy father would be!
Soon mother again stopped the wagon at the river crossing. For a moment she and Jed sat looking across the river, which seemed to be rushing along as though it were a racehorse urged on by an anxious rider.
Before mother could say a word, Jed jumped from the wagon. As he climbed onto Bess, his body trembled and cold chills raced up and down his spine. But his fear lasted only a moment. With the help of Heavenly Father, he and his mother had crossed the river once, and they would do it again. Turning his head, he smiled at his mother. Then shouting “Giddap!” and giving Bess a smart slap, Jed guided the wagon toward the opposite shore.

In the Ensign there is a story about a young man named Christopher, who was grateful he didn't turn bread into stone or serpents. When he tore open his mission call, his heart dropped when he read the line "Michigan Lansing Mission." He had waited his whole life for that moment. He took German and Spanish in high school because he had dreamed of a foreign mission--walking the cobbled streets of Europe or hiking remote mountain pueblos in South America. What he got, however, was Michigan. Did you ever have something like that happen to you--you figuratively wanted Argentina, but what you got was Michigan? Christopher could have regarded that call as a stone, a serpent, but instead he saw it as bread. He accepted the call the Lord gave and served an honorable mission.

More than 20 years after his return, his neighbor invited him to take a DNA test. "I had been adopted and had no idea of my biological ancestry," said Christopher. He was curious about his biological parents but was content with his life. He had a family he loved. Then the results came back. It was a "close family" match. It predicted with 99 percent that they found a close family member.

"Before I knew what was happening," said Christopher,
[my wife composed] an email to send to this "close family" match.
Within minutes an email came back. How old was I? Where was I born? . . .
It turned out the "close family" match was my half brother. The person sending the emails was my birth mother. . . . [S]he wanted me to call her.
The next morning I dialed her number. As we talked, she told me the story of my birth.

Before Christopher hung up, he asked about his biological father. His mother thought Christopher's father was from Lansing, Michigan. Within minutes after the phone call, Christopher found his father on the Internet. He lived in an area close to where Christopher served his mission. Digging further, he discovered his dad had a sister in the same area. He emailed his father, and his father replied that his sister was LDS, and she and her husband were coming to Utah and hoped they could visit with Christopher.

As they walked in my door, I felt an instant familiarity. Suddenly another light turned on. The man's hair had gone from black to silver, . . . but suddenly I saw in front of me the ward mission leader from the Grand Rapids Ward. . . . I had worked [with him during] a large part of my mission. For months I had been at his home weekly. I had played with his children--my cousins--and been with my aunt and uncle and hadn't known it.

In light of my discovery, I knew why I had been called to serve a mission in Michigan. . . . My biological family was spread all over Michigan in the places where I was called . . . to serve. . . . I knew now . . . this was truly a call by inspiration specifically for me.[16]

At the time of the commencement of work on the Kirtland Temple my great-great-grandfather, Artemus Millet, was a wealthy construction contractor living in the area of Toronto, Canada. He was also a non-member of the Church. It has been said that he was surprised to find Brigham Young at his door saying that he had been sent by Joseph Smith to convert him to the Church and that he was to leave his business and come to Kirtland to assist in the construction of the temple. Brigham also said that Joseph wanted him to bring $1000 so they could buy supplies. Artemus was baptized, left his business in the hands of employees, and went to Kirtland where he worked tirelessly on the temple. Accidents and fatigue weakened him physically, he gave liberally of his funds and in the end had little of economic worth left. His wife died leaving him with four children. In short he, along with numerous others, gave everything he had to the building of the temple. He later followed the Saints to Nauvoo where he again worked on the temple, giving all that he had and more. Is there any doubt in your mind that Artemus loved the temple? It is probable that most of you have ancestors about whom a similar story could be told. It almost seems improper to even raise the question: do you think they loved the temple?

When David was a boy, he dreamed of playing professional baseball. He thought the greatest moment of his life would be to hit the game-winning home run in game seven of the World Series.

When he was older, he changed his mind about this dream. One day Elder Haight was sitting with his wife and three children—one of whom was about to be married—in a sealing room of the Los Angeles Temple. Looking around the room, he thought, “David, you had your priorities all mixed up. Being a hero in a worldly event isn’t the great moment of life. … The great moment … is here, … because all I have that is really important is in this room. All of my children are committed to the Church.”1

Masahiro Suzuki, 18, of the Sapporo 2nd Ward, is excited because right now his family is listening to the missionary discussions. He’s also excited because his family has agreed to allow him to go on a full-time mission, especially since he plans to pay his own way. “Elder Mark E. Petersen (of the Council of the Twelve) visited here, and I told him I would earn money for my mission,” Masahiro says. Working part-time as a jackhammer operator while he attends drafting school, Masahiro has managed to put aside sufficient funds for his entire mission. “Be sure to let Elder Petersen know!” he says, with a wide grin.

When I was in fifth grade, nobody else in my neighborhood or my school was LDS. And after church on Sundays, I’d play video games and watch TV with my friends.
After I finished fifth grade, I moved to a different state. My first day there was a Saturday. I met a kid named Alex. I hung out with him through the evening. When he had to go home, I asked him if he could hang out the next day. He said it was Sunday and he couldn’t hang out. I decided to follow Alex’s example by keeping the Sabbath day holy.
The next day I went to church, came home, and replaced my video-game time with reading time. That night I knew Heavenly Father was proud of me. And I thought about how proud of Alex He must be too for being a good example. Ever since then, I have kept the Sabbath day holy.

Archibald Stewart and his wife, Esther Lyle, are my great-great-grandparents. Archibald’s ancestors had been forced to flee from Scotland to Northern Ireland, where they had been promised protection. Instead, they again became victims of persecution.
Their love and devotion and deep religious faith made them receptive to the gospel. When the Mormon missionaries went to their house, Elizabeth, their third child, immediately felt the truthfulness of the gospel message. She began to study and search for more assurance for the things she felt within. She spent many hours telling Granny about the new prophet of God, Joseph Smith, who had brought back to earth the simple, direct message that Christ was alive and had appeared to man. Her feelings and study stirred a response in her old granny, who was the head of the Stewart household.
Elizabeth asked permission to be baptized, but because of the persecution, her parents objected. Then Granny came to her rescue: “Let the child alone. I have read all her books, and I do believe the child is right.”
As Elizabeth went to her baptism, Granny was at her side. They walked to the river, where the elders had broken a hole in the ice that wintry March day. When the elders came toward Elizabeth to baptize her, Granny stepped up and said, “Watch your manners, child; never step in front of your elders.”
The elders baptized Granny in her street clothes. She had brought no extra things to wear, so she had to walk home in her wet, frozen clothes. She said nothing about her baptism to the family but went about her usual tasks as if nothing had happened. After the others had gone to bed, she hung her clothing around the fireplace.
In the morning, when Archibald saw the clothes drying, he joked with the others about Granny having been “dipped” in the river along with Elizabeth. Granny listened to their fun, then said, “Archibald, if you don’t want people to hear, stop shouting so loudly. You can’t talk about Granny now, for she can hear better than any of you.”
Granny had been virtually deaf for twenty years, but not only had she not caught a cold in the icy river but her hearing had been miraculously restored. From that day until her death, she could hear distinctly.
Most of the other family members were soon baptized too.

Look in the backseat of the car Matthew Clawson drives to early-morning seminary, and you’ll find what at first seems to be a typical jumble of high school paraphernalia. There are some school books, various sheets of notebook paper, a pair of tennies, a sock or two, a crumpled burger wrapper, a soft drink cup, a sweatshirt, and a lacrosse stick.
A lacrosse stick? What’s that?
Some sort of dried fruit snack?
Something Matt picked up on a nature hike?
Guess again. As any sports fan on the East Coast of the United States, from New York to Maine, will tell you, the stick is the essential piece of equipment used in a sport called lacrosse—the oldest sport in the U.S., and one of the most popular sports in the East.
And it’s slowly catching on in other parts of the country. In fact, Matt’s older brother Jim helped spread lacrosse out West by being a key player in the establishment of a team at Brigham Young University. Back in the Yorktown New York Stake, a number of youth have been playing the fast-action game for years. Richard Stone, a priest in the Westchester Ward, has been playing since fourth grade.
The sport becomes a consuming interest among the boys who play. They take their lacrosse sticks, which are from three-to-six feet long and have small net pockets on one end, with them everywhere. They carry them around at school, they take them on vacation, and, sometimes to the leaders’ frustration, they even take them to church. But not on Sundays.
Tonight is activity night, and the Laurels and priests are meeting at the chapel in New Canaan, Connecticut, to go bowling. While they wait, a pickup game of basketball develops in the cultural hall. As the basketball players run up and down the court, Matt and his friend Mark Fuller are using their lacrosse sticks to whip a small rubber ball back and forth between the players. They seem unconcerned about the threat of a black eye or broken nose as the ball whizzes past them. They’ve watched Mark and Matt practice everywhere and have seen them play on the state championship team. They know the lacrosse players have complete control.
Mark and Matt, like many other lacrosse players in the area, have become enraptured with a sport that the Lamanites were playing long before the first Pilgrims ever set foot on the shores of New England. In those days, the playing fields were huge—sometimes covering several miles. The object of the game was, and still is, to pass the ball from player to player, using the sticks, and to get it in the opposing team’s goal. Sometimes the goals would be set in opposing tribes’ camps, and whoever scored first won whatever disputes the two tribes were trying to settle.
Today, though, the game is played on a field ten yards longer than a football field. A team has ten players: a goalkeeper, three defensemen, three midfielders, and three attackmen. The players wear helmets, padded gloves, shorts, cleated shoes, and jerseys. The game is not unlike soccer, but instead of advancing a large ball by kicking it, a ball slightly smaller than a baseball is passed from stick to stick.
“There’s a lot of action, and there’s never any dead time where nothing’s going on,” says Dean Phelps, a priest in the Wilton Ward. He gladly passed up baseball to play on the Scarsdale High lacrosse team, which also competes in the spring.
The LDS boys who play are definitely in the minority on their teams. Their teammates tease them about being LDS, but in a very good-natured way. They’ll ask the LDS players to bless the field before the game, or say a special prayer when someone gets injured, and they’re half serious. Last year, before Matt was a starter, the two players ahead of him were out because of sickness and injury. “Clawson,” the coach teased, “I don’t know if you prayed for the chance to play or not, but while you’re at it, you might pray for a little speed. You’re going to need it out there.”
It’s all in fun, though, the LDS players insist. “They really do have a lot of respect for us because we’re honest and we stick to our morals,” Mark notes. “They give everybody a bad time about something or other.”
While the players in the Yorktown Stake assert that lacrosse is their favorite sport, it has its down side as well. It’s nearly impossible to come away from a game without any bruises on your arms. It’s inevitable when players are blocking each other and their shots with sticks. And at times the drills during practice—running, throwing, catching, running, throwing, catching—can become very tedious. But they even see that as one of the sport’s assets.
“Lacrosse teaches us discipline that will help us on our missions,” says Rich, speaking for the LDS players in the Yorktown Stake who are very serious about their intent to serve. “You’ve got to work hard to play lacrosse, and I’m sure it will be the same way in the mission field. Sometimes practice is so monotonous; you do the same thing every day. But you just keep pushing and pushing. Then when it’s time for the game, you’re glad you had the practice. I’m sure it’s the same way on a mission. When it comes time to baptize someone, you’re grateful for the time and effort you put in, no matter how monotonous it might have seemed once.”
Dean agrees, and adds that the converse is also true—that mission preparation has helped his lacrosse. “Our school lacrosse program is pretty lax, and it would be easy not to work real hard, but the discipline I’ve learned through scripture study and going to seminary has helped me to stick with it and give it my all,” he says.
These young men will have no regrets when the time comes to trade their lacrosse sticks for a different set of “sticks”—the scriptures. They’re excited about carrying their scriptures around every day, even more diligently than they carry their lacrosse sticks around now.
Even though the mission field is still a way off for them, the LDS lacrosse players in New England are busy working hard and diligently to become good players and good missionaries. And you can be assured that they’ll stick with it.

I saw the ability of “not rendering evil for evil” but showing patience and respect beautifully demonstrated by a widow, Anne, who showed kindness when rebuffed by another. Anne was assigned to visit teach another woman in her ward, Betty, who had recently lost her husband. Betty was beside herself with grief and loneliness and pushed away any attempt by ward members to approach her.
As Betty explained later, “I was angry and frustrated, and I could not bear to be around others. At the same time I longed for someone to break through to me. I just didn’t know what to do!”
When Anne went to Betty with some flowers to express her condolences, Betty pushed the door shut in Anne’s face, loudly telling her that she did not want visitors and did not want or need anything from neighbors! Anne slowly walked home, wondering what she should do. After spending a few minutes at home praying and thinking about her own loneliness and sadness, Anne decided to return to Betty’s home.
After knocking, Anne was surprised when Betty opened the door. Anne pulled Betty into an embrace, held her tightly, and said, “I’m so sorry you are hurting.”
Rather than pushing Anne away, Betty melted into Anne’s arms and sobbed, all the while saying, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

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