Gospel Story Finder

A boy entered a pharmacist’s shop and told the owner that he was Bob Brown, son of Mrs. Helen Brown. He asked if there was any possibility for him to work at the pharmacy so that he could pay for medicine that the store owner had supplied the family but that hadn’t been paid for. Mr. Jones didn’t really need any additional help, but he was so impressed by the unusual conscientiousness and honesty of this seventeen-year-old boy that he made arrangements for Bob to work at the store on Saturdays.
Bob’s work that first day greatly impressed the store owner, and at the end of it, he handed the young man an envelope containing twelve dollars. The boy took two one-dollar bills from the envelope and asked Mr. Jones to give him change for one of them. Bob put the other dollar bill and twenty cents in his pocket. Then he put the eighty cents change in the envelope with the ten-dollar bill and handed it back to Mr. Jones to apply against the family account. Mr. Jones urged Bob to keep a larger portion of the money. “You’ll need some money for school,” he said.
“No, sir,” said the seventeen-year-old. “Maybe later I could keep a little more, but today I would like to pay the ten dollars and eighty cents on our bill.”
At that moment some of Bob’s friends came by and asked him to attend a movie with them. He said that he couldn’t, that he had to go home, and that he didn’t have any money. One of the boys playfully jostled him and heard the twenty cents rattle in Bob’s pocket. The teasing began again because he obviously did have some money.
Bob finally said quietly, “Look, guys, I do have a little money, but it isn’t mine—it’s my tithing.”
Early in his life Bob had learned to be honest with his fellowmen as well as the Lord. Can anyone doubt that he will be an equally fine man, a good husband and dad, and a concerned leader who will help many others?

While in high school I watched my classmates play a special classroom game. The students were matched against the teacher. The name of the game was “How to pass the answers in an examination from one side of the room to the other without the knowledge of the teacher.” One boy in the middle of the room was the “quarterback.” He had a special knack and skillfully and joyfully carried out the process. The game was so much fun that many of the students participated, not thinking themselves dishonest, but merely playing a game. I tried it myself a time or two, though I felt little need of help in answering the questions. On one such attempt the teacher caught me, and the embarrassment and overpowering sense of guilt put an effective stop to my participation.

Gray shadows of disappointment nagged at Karl as he walked home in the dark between the two elders who had just baptized and then confirmed him a member of the Church. He had prayed that he might know whether the Church had been dreamed up by man or whether it had truly been established by the Lord, and he had fully expected the horizon to lighten when he came up out of the Elbe River. But the night was still dark and the sky was still black. No sign had been given.
As the three returned home through the dark together, their discussion centered on the authority of the priesthood. One of the elders spoke German and interpreted for Karl, who spoke only German, and then interpreted for the other elder, who spoke only English. Suddenly there was no need for an interpreter! For a short time both elders understood Karl’s questions and comments, and Karl understood their answers whether spoken in German or English.
Karl now felt that his prayer at the time of his baptism had been answered. The elders knew this strange experience was a special blessing for all of them, but they did not know then that Karl’s baptism would prove to be a great blessing to all of the Church.

Marty was excited. Marty was scared. Today was his first day of real school. Not preschool at the little school down the street.
“This school is miles away,” Marty told his stuffed bear, Chipper, as he pulled on his socks.
“Hundreds—maybe thousands—of kids go to real school,” Marty told Chipper as he zipped his new jeans.
“Maybe I won’t find one friend at the real school,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. “I wish you could go to school with me. Then I’d have at least one friend.”
Slowly, Marty picked up his new backpack. It felt light in his hands.
“I only have crayons and pencils and my new drawing tablet in the backpack,” Marty thought. He smiled. “Yes! You’ll fit right inside too,” he said, and tucked Chipper inside before pulling the pack over one shoulder.
The school looked even bigger when Mother helped Marty find his classroom. It looked like there were hundreds—maybe millions—of kids inside. He didn’t know one of them! But at least he had Chipper with him.
Marty watched the children in his classroom hanging their backpacks on the hooks against the wall. One girl put her backpack on a table, unzipped her bag, and pulled out her crayons and pencils and drawing paper before hanging it up.
“Oh no!” Marty thought. He’d have to unzip his backpack right in front of everyone. Suddenly, having Chipper along didn’t seem like such a good idea. All the children would call him a baby!
Marty stood at the back of the room. He put his backpack on the table and wished he could unzip it just a little bit so no one could see Chipper. But the drawing tablet was large. It would never come out.
A boy just his size stood beside him. He stood with his hand on the zipper of his backpack too. He wasn’t pulling it either.
“Please hang up your backpacks and bring your tablets, pencils, and crayons to your seats, boys,” the teacher said. “We will all draw pictures about our story today.”
Marty moved the zipper on his backpack down just a bit. The boy beside him did the very same thing. Marty pulled his zipper down a tiny bit more. Just enough for one of Chipper’s fuzzy brown arms to pop right out!
Marty’s face grew hot. He looked at his feet.
“Boys!” the teacher called. Marty looked back at his backpack.
The boy beside him did the very same thing. Marty looked at the other boy’s backpack. There was a fuzzy brown arm sticking out of his backpack too!
Marty looked at the boy. “I’m Marty,” he said.
“I’m Hank,” the boy said.
Marty unzipped his backpack and took out his tablet, pencils, and crayons. Then he hung up his bag. Hank did the same. Somehow, Marty didn’t think either of them would need to bring their stuffed bear friends to school again.

It takes a lot of grit, backbone, and just plain courage to accept a job cleaning out raw sewage tanks when the job you applied for was an office position. But if you can pull it off? “Bragging rights!” says Jen F. after she did just that.
Jen was looking for summer employment when she heard about an office job at a nearby RV-rental facility. She applied and was later asked if she would instead be interested in becoming an RV mechanic for the summer. They’d provide the training.
“I didn’t know anything about cars, but I figured I could learn,” Jen says. She accepted.
The work was hard. And greasy. And it came with long hours. “I was dirty all the time,” she says. “I felt gross all the time.” Jen was in charge of cleaning out the sewage systems, checking generators, performing oil changes, inspecting for damage, and completing maintenance and other minor repairs on the rented RVs.
She’d come home exhausted at the end of each day. But what did she gain by the end? “This job taught me a lot about self-reliance,” Jen says. “I know I can learn any skill that I need to. It was empowering.”
She also earned enough money during that single summer to pay for a big trip.

When I was in grade four, the day of our exam came. I was nervous that I might not pass the exam. While waiting for the school bus, I reviewed what I had studied the night before.
After I had reviewed, I gathered with my family to read a passage from a scripture mastery card. The verse was about prayer and the power of priesthood blessings. While I was listening, I was prompted to ask my father to bless me so I could pass the exam. As he blessed me, I calmed down and had peace of mind.
At school, I saw my classmates studying for the exam. The bell rang, and our teacher gave us the test. Before I started it, I went to a room, knelt down, and prayed. I went back to my classroom confident I could pass the exam. When I had finished the exam and was walking out of the classroom to go home, a classmate asked me, “Jarrel, do you think you’ll pass the exam?”
I said, “Let’s just find out tomorrow when we check the papers.”
When I got home, my mother asked me, “How was the exam?”
I said, “It went fine. I answered all the questions.”
The next day, I saw my scores—I passed the exam. I was very happy and thankful. I went home, knelt down, and thanked Heavenly Father for the wisdom and guidance He had given me during the exam. I then thanked my mother for helping me in my studies and my father for giving me a blessing.
I am thankful for priesthood blessings because they have helped me and so many members of the Church.

One brother who had once been a prisoner of war had to withdraw money from his savings account—money which had been set aside for another special purpose. Then he learned of a pension for Canadian prisoners of war and found that he qualified. In fact, he was awarded the pension retroactively, and the cumulative amount was slightly in excess of the amount he had withdrawn to pay his building assessment.

The bugle blared, and Elizabeth knew it was time for morning prayers. The night had seemed so short, and her weary little body shook in the chilly autumn air. She quickly pulled her long ragged dress over her head and tugged her worn boots over her tired feet. Mother met her with little John, and together they walked to the center of the handcart circle where her father, John, stood with his bugle.
Father was the bugler for the company. Each morning he called the company to prayer. Afterward, his bugle call started the carts on the trail. At night he called them to a halt. It was also his job to ration out the flour.
How sad he looks today, Elizabeth thought as she longed for the time when things would be nice again. Her body was always tired now, and her stomach was never full.
Everyone had been happy that day in August when Edward Martin had led this band of 576 handcart-pulling Saints on the first leg of their overland journey to Zion. They were so confident the Lord would protect them that they ignored President Brigham Young’s advice to start their journey early in the warm season with carts made of well-seasoned wood.
Because of a misunderstanding between English and American agents, the handcarts for the last two companies, headed by Captains Martin and Willie, had not been ready when the immigrants arrived in Iowa City from England. Ignoring warnings from experienced frontiersmen, the enthusiastic Saints stocked their small boxlike carts with flour, bedding, cooking utensils, and clothing for the long journey. Only seventeen pounds of personal belongings were allowed for each person; even that would be difficult to push and pull up steep hills and through cold rivers.
The green wood the carts were made from soon dried out on the long, hot journey and fell apart. When supplies were shifted to other carts, badly needed clothing and bedding were discarded.
The sound of sobs and sighs brought Elizabeth’s thoughts back to the present. Elizabeth could see tears running down her father’s face, too, as he reported to the company that he had just rationed out the last of the flour. Elizabeth knew that the Lord had always taken care of them before, and she prayed that somehow they would be taken care of now.
Gathering their strength, the pioneers pushed forward, and the faint strains of a familiar hymn could be heard above the creaking wheels of the carts. The snow that had begun to fall as they crossed the partially frozen North Platte River had turned into a blizzard. Father took Elizabeth and John into his arms and explained to them that the exhausted Saints could no longer go on. They would rest here until the Lord found a way to take care of them.
Father and Mother took out their battered tin plates and dug away at the deep snow to make a clearing for their tent. With great effort Father pounded the tent pegs into the frozen ground. Here the family waited with uncertainty.
As the days dragged on, a number of the Saints died from hunger, cold, and exhaustion. The food supply was now completely gone. Elizabeth and the other children had begun to scavenge the area for anything they could find to eat.
One day the children wandered among the willows, eating the bark from young trees to take the edge off their hunger. Suddenly a group of horsemen appeared at the top of a nearby hill. Indians! was Elizabeth’s first thought, but the frightened children were too weak to scamper off. As the horsemen approached, Elizabeth saw that the riders were members of a rescue party. The children were happy to see them and happier still to taste the crackers they had brought. The crackers weren’t a feast, but they were enough to keep the emigrant company alive until wagons loaded with more nourishing provisions arrived four days later.
Finally Elizabeth’s tired and ragged family, together with the rest of their company, straggled into Salt Lake Valley. Word of their arrival preceded them, and Brigham Young had sent the local members home from worship meeting early. After announcing that the afternoon meeting would be omitted, President Young said, “I wish the sisters to go home and prepare to give those who have just arrived a mouthful of something to eat, and to wash them and nurse them up. You know that I would give more for a dish of pudding and milk or a baked potato and salt, were I in the situation of those persons who have just come in, than I would for all your prayers, though you were to stay here all afternoon and pray. Prayer is good, but when baked potatoes and milk are needed, prayer will not supply their place.” (Deseret News, December 10, 1856, p. 320.)
That night as Elizabeth snuggled down in a cozy warm bed at the home of one of the kind sisters, she dreamed of the delicious dinner she had just eaten. Her stomach was full for the first time in months. The aroma of warm food still clung to the air, and her eyes began to close. Elizabeth knew that prayer had seen her family safely across the long frozen plains. She thanked the Lord now for baked potatoes and milk!

Wilford Woodruff was born in Farmington, Hartford County, Connecticut, 1 March 1807. He learned the trade of a miller. He worked as a miller in a number of communities in his native state. He first learned of Joseph Smith through a newspaper article in the spring of 1832. He was twenty-five. Some nineteen or twenty months later he met Elders Zera Pulsipher and Elijah Cheney in Rushland, New York, where he had moved and was farming. On 31 December 1833 he was baptized by Zera Pulsipher. Four months later he first met Joseph Smith in the streets of Kirtland, Ohio. I would like to read to you about his first meeting with the Prophet Joseph Smith. He recorded,
Before I saw Joseph I said I did not care how old he was, or how young he was; I did not care how he looked—whether his hair was long or short; the man that advanced that revelation was a prophet of God. I knew it for myself. I first met Joseph Smith in the streets of Kirtland. He had on an old hat, and a pistol in his hand. Said he, “Brother Woodruff, I’ve been out shooting at a mark, and I wanted to see if I could hit anything.” And, said he, “Have you any objection to it?”
“Not at all,” said I. “There is no law against a man shooting at a mark, that I know of.”
He invited me to his house. He had a wolf skin, which he wanted me to help him to tan; he wanted it to sit on while driving his wagon team. Now, many might have said, “You are a pretty prophet; shooting a pistol and tanning a wolf skin.” Well, we tanned it, and used it while making a journey of a thousand miles. This was my first acquaintance with the Prophet Joseph. And from that day until the present, with all the apostasies that we have had, and with all the difficulties and afflictions we have been called to pass through, I never saw a moment when I had any doubt with regard to this work.

Merrell: After my mission I was hired as a part-time employee of the BYU Sound Services while studying music theory and composition at the university. I began by recording concerts and recitals, then moved into producing records, and eventually became a full-time musical supervisor. My first big break came when I was given the opportunity to do the arrangements for The First Vision. The music was very difficult to write, especially the revelation sequence. I listened to many of the great pieces that have been done concerning deity—such as Ben Hur and Crawford Gates’ music to the Hill Cumorah pageant—but nothing came to me. I wrote a lot of ideas down on paper, but none of them really made sense. So finally I shut the door of my studio and got down on the hard linoleum and began praying. I told Heavenly Father, “I’ve written this idea and this is how it goes, and now I’m not sure just what to write. I’ve done everything I can. Now what should I do?” When I finished, I knelt there for a while, hoping something would happen, but nothing did. So I got up and walked over to the piano and sat down and started looking at my favorite theme. Then suddenly I saw how I could take that idea and add another idea to it and write this little thing in between and put this together and take that and bridge this and change that one and do all this and that was it! I started writing, and about 45 minutes later I had written the whole sequence. What I’ve learned from that experience, and over and over again since then, is to put all the effort and research into my music that I can, and then just relax and let the Spirit take over. I don’t feel I can ask the Lord for help if I’m not working as hard as I can.

I continued attending church, and I pondered often what I learned there. I also read the Book of Mormon. One day I accepted the invitation to ask God if what I was learning was true. As I prayed, something strong touched my heart, and I thought, This is the right way. I already believe in God. It’s time to follow Him.
As I continued to pray and attend meetings, the Spirit continued to guide me. Finally I told the elders I wanted to hear the discussions. I wanted to follow God and return to His presence one day. I was baptized on 21 June 1993.

I grew up on a farm outside of town. One evening, my parents were away at church meetings, and I was left in charge. One of my younger brothers ran into the house and told me the garage was on fire. The garage was only a few feet away from our house.
The one side of the garage where my father had been repairing a tractor was on fire, and flames had reached the car on the other side. I told my brothers to get far away from the garage so they wouldn’t be hurt. Then I grabbed a broom and started beating out the fire.
One of my brothers came to help, but he suddenly caught on fire and started to run. I yelled at him to stop and roll, but he just kept running. I chased after him and pulled him down to put out the flames. The thought came to me to have him stand in the canal near our home. I told him to do that while I put out the rest of the fire.
I know I had Heavenly Father’s help in knowing what I needed to do to put out the fire that day. The doctors said that if I hadn’t told my brother to stand in the cold water of the canal, he would have needed surgery from the burns. Instead he healed so well that there was only one small scar on his foot. It was a miracle.
I know that Heavenly Father listens to our prayers and that He watches over us. He stands ready to help us when we pray, listen, and follow the promptings of the Holy Ghost.

I was 14 and had just moved to a new school with very few members. I had lived in a town made up mostly of LDS residents, so living in a place where I was the minority was a whole new experience. I didn’t quite know how to take it in. I was really struggling to find where I belonged while still upholding my standards.
After one extremely trying day, I fell to my knees in prayer, pleading for comfort and support. Then a calm feeling came over me. I felt arms embrace me as if someone were holding me gently. It was like my dad was giving me a big hug, only the warmth went all the way through. I knew without a doubt that the Lord felt my pain and was there to reassure me that my struggles were known. That’s something I will always keep with me in times of pain.

About twelve years ago I had a call early in the morning from a beloved friend who is a physician. He asked me to come to the hospital to administer with him to his infant son, just born and fighting for his life. We reached our hands into the incubator and laid them on this tiny boy and prayed, and then sat and waited with Larry’s mother while he took a turn for the better. We were there when the pediatrician came to announce that he was going to make it. He came through that difficult ordeal with a fine mind and a strong, indomitable spirit. Only a pair of legs that are not quite as strong as they one day will be remain to remind Larry how blessed he is to be alive.

Recently this little boy’s big brother returned from having served an honorable mission for the Lord abroad. A perceptive uncle, observing the reunion at the airport, wrote a letter to Larry that I had the privilege of reading. I asked if I might have permission to quote it and have been given that permission. I would like you to know about a Latter-day Saint boy just ordained a deacon who tries to practice what we preach.

“Dear Larry,” the letter said. “Yesterday I got a lump in my throat without even swallowing a frog; and I got a tear in my eye without even inhaling a hippy’s breath! More than that, I got a picture tattooed on my memory that I’ll never forget.

“It’s only right that I thank you for the lump, the tears, and the picture, for a handsome boy named Larry Ellsworth gave me all three of them … and he didn’t even know it or ask me for a receipt.

“It started when he stood waiting for his brother to return from serving our Heavenly Father as a missionary for two years in a far-off land named Chile. You could see that the two years had been longer for this boy than for anyone else. He was so intense, so pale, so absorbed with just watching and waiting.

“Then to see his face light up when he saw his brother again! It was like a flashlight in a dark room.

“Someone whispered that this wonderful boy had been saving his nickels, dimes, and quarters for two years to buy his big brother a basketball … a more than $30 ‘best there is’ basketball because he loved him! He wouldn’t let anyone else contribute. It was his idea and his gift … the best way, out of money he could have spent for himself but chose not to because he loved someone else so much!

“Then I watched this fine boy stand, without saying a word, at the side of his brother, happy just to look way up at his face, hold on to his leg, and see him home again.

“I have a special love and admiration for both of those boys: the giant who went far away all alone to do what was right and the little brother who waited and planned and remembered.

“Larry, you’re a fine boy. I’m sure that you’ll be a great man … for you have a big heart and a tender conscience. Some can run faster, jump higher, walk farther, play longer just because they had an easier time getting born into this world. That’s no credit to them. But you have more than most to be thankful for, because Heavenly Father sent one of his favorite sons to live in your body … and it’s who lives in a house that makes all the difference. Thanks, Larry, for the lesson an old dumb uncle learned yesterday just by watching. Love, Uncle Dick.”

My friends also set a good example for me when they chose to serve missions. Although I faced some opposition, I decided I also wanted to serve a mission. That decision has shaped the rest of my life. When I served in the Samoa Apia Mission, the missionaries carried much of the priesthood leadership responsibilities, and I could see that the Church in the islands needed to be strengthened. I made up my mind to do my part—I would return to Samoa after finishing my mission and my education.

After graduation from college, my wife and I moved to Samoa, where we raised our children and worked to strengthen the Church and the community. My father, not a member of the Church, was actively involved in local business and community affairs. His motto was “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” As my siblings and I discovered the gospel and lived it to the best of our abilities, he noticed the changes for good in our lives. In 1999, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) stayed in my father’s home on his return from the groundbreaking of the Suva Fiji Temple. During that visit, the Spirit touched my father’s heart, and I was privileged to baptize him when he was 80 years old. He found great joy in the gospel and was unashamed and bold in sharing it with others during the last days of his life.

I know the importance of being an example of the believers and the happiness it brings into our lives and the lives of others. Because of my friends’ good examples and the love of a prophet, my family and I have been blessed with the joy the gospel brings.

Every day we influence others by our actions. Let us be sure to reach out to others and share the truth of this scripture that it may bring happiness to their lives too: “Remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Helaman 5:12).

It was finally here. My favorite time of the summer: Young Women camp. I was super excited because I was bringing my best friend, who was of another faith.

A few weeks earlier I had started bringing my friend to Mutual. She enjoyed the first activity and wanted to keep coming back. The other girls and I talked a lot about Young Women camp, so when it was almost time for camp, she asked if she could come. I said yes, of course, but the problem was convincing her parents. They weren’t keen on the Mormon religion and had denied her going with me to church before.

I went over to their house to bring the papers for camp and talked to her parents about letting her come, but I wasn’t sure they would let her go. That night I prayed earnestly to Heavenly Father that her parents’ hearts would be softened. I called back the next day and they had agreed to let her go!

I was glad my friend was coming to camp but nervous at the same time. I was scared that she would feel out of place when we played gospel-oriented games or sang hymns around the campfire. I was also scared because I felt like my friend didn’t really care for religion. I spent a lot of time praying that things would all go well at camp.

It turned out that I hadn’t needed to worry. All of us, including my friend, had fun playing games, hiking, and laughing. It was the night hike and testimony meeting, however, that were my favorite parts of camp.

It was stake camp, and every ward had their own campsite. For the night hike, the girls were separated into several groups and then each group took turns going from one campsite to another, where they had different speakers talk on women who had “lived as they believed” (that year’s camp theme). As we sat around the campfires and listened to the different speakers talk about courageous women, we felt the Spirit so strongly.

I glanced from time to time at my friend but couldn’t read her expression and couldn’t tell if she was paying attention to anything the speakers said. As we neared the end of the night hike however, my friend turned to me and the first words out of her mouth touched me deeply.

“I’m going to camp every year.”

I smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father that my friend had been able to feel the Spirit. She had enjoyed the games and having fun, but she had felt the Spirit, and it was what made her want to come back again.

The next night was our last night at camp and our testimony meeting. My friend was confused as to what a testimony was so I quickly explained as best I could. She didn’t look too excited. After the opening prayer, the bishop and several young women bore beautiful testimonies and the Spirit was very strong.

My friend, who never liked to talk in public, stood up to share her feelings. She explained that even though she was of a different religion, watching us girls read our scriptures and pray had touched her. She said that after being here at camp, she wanted to start being a better person and was going to try to be nicer to her family. She also said that coming to camp was probably the best decision she had ever made. She sat down and I glanced over at her and saw there were tears in her eyes. I had never seen her become emotional or cry, but the Spirit of the Lord touched her so deeply it moved her to tears.

This experience at camp taught me a lot about how the Spirit touches the lives of others and about the power of testimonies. The Spirit can speak to everyone regardless of who they are. I now better understand the importance of having a strong testimony and sharing it with others. The gospel can touch the lives of those you would never expect.

Now, fast forward 28 1/2 years after my father’s death. I was serving as a bishop and our stake presidency was going to be released. All bishops and members of the high council were going to be interviewed by Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve and Elder José A. Teixeira of the Seventy. As I walked into the stake president's office that Saturday morning for the interview, I went to shake Elder Scott's hand and got a big hug instead. He then started to go over the information sheet we provided and noticed that I worked at BYU-Idaho. He asked me how long I had worked there. After I responded, he then said, “Thank you for your many years of service and sacrifice.” He then asked me one question: "Why do you hold your temple recommend sacred and dear?” I told them about the experience my father had the first time he went to the temple and how he had returned to the temple just before his death. I explained that I was not sure if he had gone back for the right reasons. So, I wanted to show him how important the temple was to me and that through my actions, he might understand its importance.

We then finished the interview, and he thanked me for my service as a bishop and told me the Lord would bless me as I served those of my ward. As we stood to leave, I again went to shake his hand, but Elder Scott was a hugger. So after a second hug, I turned and proceeded to leave the room. About halfway out the door, I heard Elder Scott say, "Bishop Clements.” I paused and looked back as he said, “I just want you to know that your father is accepting those covenants he made in the temple." I thanked him and hurried home to relate the experience to my wife. I knew that I had to tell my mom, so we invited her up for dinner after stake conference the next day. As I related the happenings of the previous day, she began to cry and told me that she had been wondering the same thing for years.

Like many of you, when I was growing up I tended to devote my time to things that I naturally excelled at. But I learned something valuable when I chose to devote some time to something that I'm not naturally good at. A few years ago, I decided to train for a marathon. I have never been a regular runner...in fact, I was pretty vocal about the fact that running was torture to me. In spite of these feelings, I decided to overcome my fears and train for a marathon.

While I never ran fast, and definitely didn't break any records (you know the people at the very, very end of a race? Well, I was just ahead of them). I learned that running a marathon is all about time and patience and just putting one foot in front of the other. That's the essential decision that I had to make...keep going, one step at a time.

Changing things about ourselves is basically the same. One foot in front of the other, day after day. This takes a lot of patience.

The Lord taught another great priesthood duty during this period of Church history. In section 104 the Lord set forth the order of the Church concerning the poor: “Therefore, if any man shall take of the abundance which I have made, and impart not his portion, according to the law of my gospel, unto the poor and the needy, he shall, with the wicked, lift up his eyes in hell, being in torment.” With this precedent, in January 1839, during the exodus from Missouri, many of the brethren covenanted to “stand by and assist one another … till there shall not be one left who desires to remove from the state.”
In the bitter cold of February 1839, Daniel Stillwell Thomas reflected, “Before we crossed [the Mississippi River,] we unloaded our wagon and sent it back to assist in removing the poor and thus to save their lives, the mob still threatening them.” Daniel Thomas had five children and only one pair of shoes between them, yet he still sent the wagon back to save the destitute Saints.

“What?” I said incredulously. “I’m doing what? Dad, how could you?”
My dad just shook his head and waved me off, “Well, I thought you’d like to go on a rafting trip. You weren’t here to say, so I said yes.”
I stomped off angrily. My dad had accepted an invitation from the bishop for me to go on a weeklong rafting trip down the Colorado River with a bunch of kids from church. I had just spent over two weeks waterskiing with some of my real friends. I never expected to come home to the news that I was leaving the very next day to go rafting with the “church people.”
We had gone to church when I was younger, and I was baptized when I was eight. But shortly after that we moved from our old neighborhood to a new development. We slipped into inactivity, and no one seemed to notice. Now I was 16 and thought I was happy with my life. Even though my parents still raised me with high moral expectations like other Mormon kids, I still avoided people from church.
The next morning my parents dropped me at the Scoutmaster’s house. I recognized a few of the faces. I had gone to church with some of these guys when I was a kid. Some of them even went to my school.
As we started the long drive to the starting point of the trip, I was nervous about how things would be with the other boys. But everyone was cool. No one treated me like the “less-active kid.” It didn’t take long to feel like I was just part of the group.
I ended up having a great time. I liked these people. I listened to these boys and their leaders pray, and I felt something. Another boy, Todd, and I had become good friends. One day as we were waiting for dinner, we went for a walk. We found a set of train tracks and started walking along them.
We were goofing off and tossing rocks around when Todd suddenly said, “You know, you should come to church.”
I picked up another rock. “Yeah, maybe.” He didn’t say anything else about church then, but I remembered his invitation.
The whole experience was so different from the two weeks I had spent waterskiing. The adults on the skiing trip were always drunk, swearing at each other, and saying inappropriate things. The adults on the rafting trip were respectful toward us and one another. I was impressed, and I respected them for it.
After I returned home, the next Sunday I got up and got dressed for church. I knew enough to know that I should wear my best. As I came downstairs my mom and sisters were doing the dishes. “Hey, Gary, where are you going?” Mom asked.
“Uh,” I paused. “Church.” My mother seemed surprised (as did my sisters), but she just nodded. I went to church and sat in the back. For several weeks I went by myself.
Then one Saturday night my sister Patti said that she would go to church with me. Even though we liked the kids at church, we realized that going to church wasn’t about fitting in or having friends—church was about how we felt when we were there.
One day Patti and I were getting ready for church when we heard a call from downstairs, “Patti! Gary! We’re going to be late.” I went jogging down the stairs and saw my parents dressed and standing by the door. Our family was beginning to change.
I believe my bishop was inspired to invite me on that trip, and I believe my father was inspired to accept for me. The scriptures say, “Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).
One small invitation led a family back to church. I earned my Eagle Scout Award and went on a mission. Patti and I each got married in the temple to returned missionaries. We’re now raising our own families in the gospel.
If you invite a less-active person to an activity, it may or may not impact their lives. But if you don’t invite them, it definitely won’t.