Gospel Story Finder

Football player Tom Brown was in line to be the starting quarterback, but went to the Canada Winnipeg Mission instead. After returning from the mission field, he filled in when the starter was injured, and led the Falcons to an upset against Brigham Young University, earning a share of the 1995 conference championship.
“Before my mission, I tried to justify all the good I could do as a football star,” Tom says. “But I had always planned on a mission. I finally told [the coach] I’d love to start, but it would have to be when I returned. It’s been good to come back and play again. But no athletic experience could ever overshadow what you learn on a mission.”

One man came to see me for therapy against the wishes of his wife, who mocked him for “needing help.” At church she was friendly and devout, but at home her cold condescension stung like a whip. She criticized his income and called his teaching career “a girl’s job.” She told her son, “I hope you don’t end up a wimp like your dad,” and spent every day on the phone with her mother, where they disparaged their husbands. Critical people feel justified in causing pain and “love to have others suffer” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:13). These family members break Jesus’s commands to “judge not” and “condemn not” (Luke 6:37) as they belittle, show disgust, or call names.

The youth from the Victoria Ward in Hong Kong and from the English-speaking branch in Taiwan combined in making a trip to the Taiwan Temple to do baptisms for the dead.
The group started their excursion with a trip to the peaks of Alishan, part of the central mountain range in Taiwan. The location is popular because of the spectacular sunrises. At 4:00 A.M. when the wake-up call came, the sleepy youth hiked to the highest part of the summit. They were issued cardboard sunglasses with darkened lenses to protect their eyes while they were watching the sunrise. They were not disappointed. The neighboring mountains rose out of the mist, and the sun burst above the final jagged peak. It seemed to set a theme for the trip: “The day dawn is breaking, the world is awaking,/ The clouds of night’s darkness are fleeing away” (Hymns, 1985, no. 52).
Arriving at the temple and performing baptisms was the highlight of the excursion. Garrett Povar of Hong Kong said, “I had a very special feeling in the temple—a feeling of calm and reverence.”
Jennifer Rasmussen said that doing baptisms in the Taiwan Temple added to her testimony. “Being in the temple is a testimony to me that Heavenly Father’s work is going on in different parts of the world. I can see that the worth of a soul is great in the sight of the Lord. I know this because the Church is concerned with the salvation of all.”
The youth had a four-day retreat from the world and from their daily routines. They had fun together, laughed together, and served together.

When I reached my teenage years, people started calling me “ugly” and “fat” at school. My confidence and feelings of self-worth were very low. I doubted the Church, Heavenly Father, and the whole plan of salvation. I didn’t want to go to church, Mutual, or firesides. I felt depressed and unworthy.
My mom, wanting me to try and make friends, helped me attend a youth camp when I turned 14. During the first session of scripture study there, I had a prompting to start reading the Book of Mormon. As soon as I read the first few words, I felt peace. The Holy Ghost was with me once again.

After the first area conference in Paris, we traveled to Helsinki, Finland. President Kimball had been going strong now for three days. He was up early every morning, worked a very heavy schedule throughout the day, and then went to bed late at night. His responsibilities were greater than anyone else’s.
His jobs included not only presiding and conducting, but he spoke for long periods of time using a translator. He had held an exhausting press conference and had interviewed and set apart many local Church authorities. We boarded an airplane late in the evening for Helsinki. It was necessary to change planes in Copenhagen, and as we walked through the hallways of the airport, President Kimball carried a travel bag with his suits in it. I had a free hand and walked up and said, “President Kimball, let me carry that.” He turned and said, “No, thank you, I have to have a reason for being here.” He was almost serious in humbly expressing his desire to carry his own weight; he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I was impressed with that same beautiful attitude during the entire trip.

When I was a small girl, only three years old, my brother, sister, and I had a live-in baby-sitter who had a little girl of her own. Because my mother was single, she had to work.
One day, while my brother and sister were at school, I was playing with the baby-sitter’s daughter. I found her sitting on the top bunk of her bunk bed. I knew my mother did not allow me to climb to the top bunk because it was dangerous. But I saw that she was eating goldfish cheese crackers, which I loved. I climbed up, received some crackers, and leaned back against the safety rail. It came unhooked, and I fell to the floor, landing on my rear end. I was shaken but would have been unhurt. However, as I looked up, I saw the rail falling toward me. It hit me on the head, knocking me unconscious.
My mother worked at the hospital, so she raced to the emergency room after she was notified I had been admitted. She found me playing with hand puppets and a nice doctor. He assured my mom that I would be fine.
Three years later, when I started first grade, everyone started to notice something was wrong with me. I spent the next few years going in and out of hospitals having tests. I had a CAT scan. I had to stay up all night once with my mother and grandmother so that I would sleep through the next day’s tests so they wouldn’t have to give me drugs to sleep. I was prescribed six pills a day to keep me awake in classes at school. For years, the doctors could not find the problem. Finally, it was determined that I had suffered a brain injury resulting in a learning disability. My mother was told by teachers, doctors, and counselors that I would not graduate from high school. I would only be able to handle sixth-grade work, if that, and she should not be angry with me because of it.
I remember watching other kids reading with delight in class. Everyone in my family could read and did a lot of it. I once asked my brother, Rob, what was so great about reading. He smiled when he told me that when you read it’s like a whole new world opens.
I had heard the stories of Joseph Smith only being 14 when he received answers to his prayers. I wanted to experience this new world of reading. I was 13, living in Arizona with my dad. In early October, I prayed, sobbing into the sheets of my bed, begging the Lord to grant me the gift of reading. I promised that if he would grant me this great blessing, I would read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover.
Amazingly, in less than 18 days, I jumped six reading levels and was up to the same grade level as others my age. Once I had been told that was impossible. The miracle happened. I struggled but kept my promise and read the whole Book of Mormon. I have since moved on to the other scriptures.
Now that I am 15, I bear my testimony that the scriptures are so important that Heavenly Father allowed a girl with a learning disability to read. I know it is important to him that all of his children read his sacred books. The scriptures have changed my life forever.

While my older children were at school and the little ones napped, I spread the household bills across the kitchen table. I began this dreaded monthly task by praying for wisdom and ability to stretch our meager income. The tithing check, as always, would be the first one written.
When I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as a young wife and mother, I had committed to pay tithing. I had never wavered from that promise. I was deeply distressed, however, by inadequate funds to cover yet another month of utility, mortgage, and insurance bills.
Now I was a single mother of six young children. I frequently felt overwhelmed by the constant workload, financial worries, and endless decisions involved in my efforts to be both mother and father with no extended family to give me relief or support.
As I sat at the table pleading with the Lord for His help and mercy, the Holy Ghost opened to my view a beautiful and comforting manifestation of the Savior’s love. I was able to see the money owed for household expenses with a new perspective as the sacred priorities of life were brought to my remembrance. I knew that our Heavenly Father wanted me to have the blessings promised to those who faithfully paid tithes and offerings. I also knew that tithe paying should be a joyful act of love, devoid of fear and worry.
As the Spirit of the Lord filled me, I found myself bearing testimony of convictions I had long held firm and sacred. My voice broke the silence of the kitchen as I declared that I would rather lose the water source to my house than lose the living water offered by the Savior. I would rather have no food on our table than be without the Bread of Life. I would prefer to endure the darkness and discomfort of no electricity than to forfeit the Light of Christ in my life. I would rather abide with my children in a tent than relinquish my privilege of entering the house of the Lord.
The burden of worry immediately lifted. My love for the Lord overcame the weakness generated by my fears. Our Heavenly Father is our deliverer, our benefactor, and our protector. He truly does supply all our needs. His promises are sure and unfailing. He commands us to pay tithing on our increase so that He may shower down blessings from heaven—including peace of mind, freedom from worldly and material worry, and confidence in His holy name.
From that day forward I have counted it a joy to pay my tithing, without reservation or fear, to Him and for Him who first loved me.

During the Korean War, Ensign Frank Blair served on a troop transport ship stationed in Japan.6 The ship wasn’t large enough to have a formal chaplain, so the captain asked Brother Blair to be the ship’s informal chaplain, having observed that the young man was a person of faith and principle, highly respected by the whole crew.

Ensign Blair wrote: “Our ship was caught in a huge typhoon. The waves were about 45 feet [14 m] high. I was on watch … during which time one of our three engines stopped working and a crack in the centerline of the ship was reported. We had two remaining engines, one of which was only functioning at half power. We were in serious trouble.”

Ensign Blair finished his watch and was getting into bed when the captain knocked on his door. He asked, “Would you please pray for this ship?” Of course, Ensign Blair agreed to do so.

At that point, Ensign Blair could have simply prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless our ship and keep us safe,” and then gone to bed. Instead, he prayed to know if there was something he could do to help ensure the safety of the ship. In response to Brother Blair’s prayer, the Holy Ghost prompted him to go to the bridge, speak with the captain, and learn more. He found that the captain was trying to determine how fast to run the ship’s remaining engines. Ensign Blair returned to his cabin to pray again.

He prayed, “What can I do to help address the problem with the engines?”

In response, the Holy Ghost whispered that he needed to walk around the ship and observe to gather more information. He again returned to the captain and asked for permission to walk around the deck. Then, with a lifeline tied around his waist, he went out into the storm.

Standing on the stern, he observed the giant propellers as they came out of the water when the ship crested a wave. Only one was working fully, and it was spinning very fast. After these observations, Ensign Blair once again prayed. The clear answer he received was that the remaining good engine was under too much strain and needed to be slowed down. So he returned to the captain and made that recommendation. The captain was surprised, telling him that the ship’s engineer had just suggested the opposite—that they increase the speed of the good engine in order to outrun the storm. Nevertheless, the captain chose to follow Ensign Blair’s suggestion and slowed the engine down. By dawn the ship was safely in calm waters.

Only two hours later, the good engine stopped working altogether. With half power in the remaining engine, the ship was able to limp into port.

The captain said to Ensign Blair, “If we had not slowed that engine when we did, we would have lost it in the middle of the storm.”

Without that engine, there would have been no way to steer. The ship would have overturned and been sunk. The captain thanked the young LDS officer and said he believed that following Ensign Blair’s spiritual impressions had saved the ship and its crew.

As I lay in the motel room anticipating the next day’s state cross-country race, I struggled with all the difficult emotions a 16-year-old can have. I felt I was running worse than in past years. I felt ugly. Having never had a date or a boyfriend compounded my feelings of insecurity. I wanted so badly to feel accepted.
I had gone to bed early, and my teammates thought I was asleep. I heard them giggling, and then they nudged my shoulder and said, “Here, Jenny. Have some water.” I could distinctly smell that it was not water.
I was angry at these “friends” for trying to play a trick on me. Did they think I was stupid? I was scared they might force the alcohol down my throat. I yearned for the security of my family, but that seemed childish for someone my age.
A thousand questions raced through my mind. By drinking, will I be part of the “in” crowd? Will the alcohol make me beautiful? Will it give me a boyfriend? Will I be able to run faster or even win the race tomorrow?
I knew the answers to these questions. I said firmly, “No, that’s not water, and I’m not going to drink it.” Even though both of those girls beat me in the race the next day, I knew I had won a more important race in the Lord’s eyes.
The bus trip home seemed particularly long. I was anxious to return to my family and tell my mother what had happened.
The next night at dinner Mom presented me with a gift. My five brothers and sisters watched me open it. It was to let me know my family was proud of my decision to live the Word of Wisdom.
Around the dinner table that night my family helped me feel talented, beautiful, and accepted—an acceptance I may never find at school or on a cross-country team.

Later, I offered to assist two members of a family that lived nearby who were struggling. They accepted my help and became part of my household.
I didn’t have the financial means, however, to support us. So I had to work harder than ever, supporting three people instead of one. It was a big lifestyle change.
To navigate that change, I knew I needed to follow my mother’s words and hold tight to the iron rod. Holding on to the iron rod includes remembering the Savior and studying the word of God. I needed to set a good example, communicate more with God, and study the scriptures every day. So, we started studying the scriptures together. Soon, the Spirit became abundant in our home.
The most fulfilling and wonderful times of my life have come from holding to the iron rod. I have also learned that “as you hold on to the iron rod, you will walk hand in hand with Jesus Christ. He will be guiding you, and He will be teaching you.”

Tom put the final block on his tower. “That does it!” he said. He sat back and smiled as he looked over his creation. Suddenly his bedroom door swung open. His little sister Addison ran into the room.
“Can I play?” she asked.
“No,” Tom said quickly. “Go away.” He just felt like being alone. He had been with friends all day at school. Besides, sometimes Addison broke his buildings.
Addison frowned and started to cry. She turned around and walked away.
Tom sighed. He reached over to grab his mini army figure, who began a heroic ascent up the tower. Tom felt a little bad for talking to his sister like that. But it was his room, after all. She could find something else to do. The figure jumped off the building ledge and somersaulted down to the ground.
Someone knocked on Tom’s door. “Come in,” he said.
Mom stepped into the room. “Did something happen with Addison?” she asked.
“She wanted to play in here,” Tom said. “But I don’t want her to break my tower.”
“You worked hard on that, huh?” Mom asked.
Tom nodded.
“I think your sister is feeling a little sad, though,” Mom said. “She looks up to you a lot, and she doesn’t get to see you much while you’re at school. Is there anything you could do together for a little while?”
Tom thought for a moment. Part of him still wanted to be alone. But he also wanted to be a good older brother. “I guess,” he said.
“Thanks, Tom,” Mom said as she walked out.
A few minutes later, Addison hesitantly stepped back into the room. “Hi,” she said.
“Hey, come here,” said Tom. “I want to show you something.”
Addison sat down on the bed next to her big brother and looked up at him. Tom pulled out his collection of animal cards.
“All right,” said Tom. He held up two pictures. “Would you rather be this snow leopard or this tarantula?”
Addison giggled and pointed to the leopard, her favorite animal. Tom smiled and handed her the card. They took turns picking their favorite animals until Dad called them to dinner. Tom looked at the clock. He couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone!
When they got downstairs, Tom told Mom and Dad about the game. “It was fun!” he said as he sat by Addison at dinner. “Want me to read to you tonight?”
“Yes!” Addison said. “Can you read the snow leopard book?”
“Sure.” He knew she’d pick that one. He might not have time to read what he wanted before bed, but he realized it was worth it to see his sister smile.
“Anytime,” he said.

When I was nine years old, my family purchased a farm and moved to the small town of Fairfield, Utah. I felt that life there was the best a young boy could possibly have. I was fortunate enough to have three outstanding friends my age. In the summertime we swam in a natural swimming hole filled with clear well water. In the wintertime we ice-skated on frozen sinkholes.
Each year as winter approached, a number of sheep herds came through town. One year one of the herds camped about a mile from our home so that the sheep could graze on the sagebrush-covered floor of the valley. The sheepherder left in charge stopped his horse-drawn wagon, which he called a “sheep camp,” not far from a large gully. I remember wondering what life as a sheepherder was like. So with the permission of my parents, I rode my horse out to the sheep camp and introduced myself to the sheepherder. We developed an immediate friendship, and although it only lasted a very short time, it taught me a valuable lesson.
One day as I arrived at his camp, he was about to saddle up and ride around the herd to make sure that everything was all right. He had selected a horse I had never seen him ride before, and the horse seemed nervous. Usually my friend kept the saddle on a cart wheel and simply threw it onto his horse. After buckling the cinch, he would mount the horse and ride past the rear door of the camp, away from the gully, and toward the sheep. It seemed to me he had mastered the art of taking as few steps as possible in accomplishing all these tasks.
This day was different. He watched the horse very carefully. He seemed to take more time than usual in putting the saddle on and in making sure that all the rigging was just right. When he finished, I expected him to just get on the horse as he always had. Instead, he led the horse away from both the sheep camp and the gully.
I followed him and asked about this sudden change in procedure. His answer taught me a lesson that has been important all my life. He said, “This horse isn’t fully broken and therefore can’t be fully trusted. He’s apt to buck or run off in any direction. I didn’t want him to be near the sheep camp or the gully when I got on, for fear he’d begin to buck and get tangled up in the sheep camp and get hurt, or fall into the gully—then we’d both get hurt. So I brought him out here where there’s plenty of room for him to make whatever mistakes he is going to make without getting either of us hurt.”

While flying from Erie to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, several years ago, I sat next to the minister of a large Protestant church. He was dressed in the garb of the clergy, so was easy to identify. After I had introduced myself as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he asked, “Do you know what we ministers talk about when we meet together? We talk about the Mormons. We see the young and the elderly, teenagers, small children, and the newly married crowding into your chapels. Every age-group seems comfortable and happy being together in your church.” I explained how we are concerned about people of all ages.
That experience reminded me of the difficulty Moses had persuading Pharaoh to let the Israelites leave Egypt. One plague followed another until the Egyptian ruler finally gave in. After being threatened with hordes of locusts, Pharaoh agreed to let the men go if Moses would leave the women, the young, and the old behind. (See Ex. 10:3–11.)
However, Moses insisted that all should go. He said, “We will go with our young and with our old, with our sons and with our daughters, with our flocks and with our herds will we go” (Ex. 10:9). Moses refused to divide the people of God.
All ages would share the adventure and the dangers together, just as our own pioneers did 132 years ago during their great exodus. The solidarity of the people of all ages is God’s way of doing things. It is our way because it is his way.
Life is not stationary. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years all tick away at the same clip for everyone. No age-group can be isolated. None of us can settle into infancy, youth, middle age, or old age. We all grow older, and, incidentally, it is an exciting thought if the accent is on growing. “Though our outward man perish,” said Paul, “yet the inward man is renewed day by day” (2 Cor. 4:16; italics added).
I cannot think on my own life without feeling deep gratitude for the older people who have walked and talked with me. A great-aunt taught me many lessons in her own sensitive way. A lovely grandmother has influenced not only her own grandchildren, but also many of their friends. A patriarch, by living righteously and by giving a beautiful blessing, changed the course of a young man’s life. Elder LeGrand Richards’s powerful voice and testimony have brought the truth of the gospel to all who will listen, and a few others besides. Our great prophet-leader, President Kimball, has influenced so many of us through his dedication and incredible energy.
All are needed; all are to serve. Those of you with experience and maturity, who have seen the Great Depression, the ravages of two world wars, a society that has emerged from the horse and buggy era to silver Concordes splitting the sky at 1,400 miles an hour have so much to offer. It is to you, the elderly, I address my brief comments.
Few men whose names occur in the New Testament have so little said about them as did Mnason. His name appears only once: “one Mnason of Cyprus, an old disciple, with whom we should lodge” (Acts 21:16). As the early missionaries traveled, they wanted to be with an elderly disciple, one with whom they felt comfortable. Apparently, they were seeking his wisdom and his knowledge.
“Then what can we do?” I can almost hear some of our older members of the Church inquiring.
First, take time with the Savior. If you feel you do not know him yet, then think of him often. Read about him. Invite him in. It is never too late to make a friend, and he is the best friend you will ever have.
Second, tell of past decades when life was different. Keep alive the recollection of your struggles and achievements. Take time to share the truths that never change. Show how solutions to problems sixty, seventy, and eighty years ago are just as valid and helpful now as they were then. We need to learn from you.
Third, look to your ancestors. Temple doors stand open bidding you welcome. So many need you to perform their earthly ordinances. The extra time you often have enables you to bless those who need you to do their earthly work for them. They are waiting for you.
Fourth, there is so much for you to do in the mission field, either as a couple or, if you do not have a mate, as an elder or sister missionary. It is true, you will not be tracting quite like the younger missionaries, or at least not as long, but you will be influencing the inactive, providing welfare service instruction, serving in our visitors’ centers, meeting the town fathers, and helping those that need your leadership example, your judgment, and your ability to teach. Investigators in Stuttgart, West Germany; Hermosillo, Mexico; Williamsport, Pennsylvania; and Rocky Ford, Colorado, will listen and, yes, be baptized because of you.
Fifth, realize that you are needed and loved and that you can be useful to many in so many positive ways. Only too often an elderly person will retreat into a state of feeling unneeded, left out, or even passed by or rejected. Usually nothing could be further from the truth. Please communicate openly so we will know of your feelings.
Sixth, hold family home evening. If you are now alone, invite friends to stop by each Monday night. If you feel lonely, others probably do, too. Loneliness can only be dispelled by helping others feel less lonely. Family home evening is an ideal opportunity to share, to worship, and to heal.
Seventh, whenever possible, walk each day. Enjoy this lovely world that the Savior has provided, and invite others to walk with you, sharing the beauties and miracles of nature together. “Add life to your years, not just years to life” (“The Problem of Old Age,” Time, 23 July 1966).
Eighth, for heaven’s sake, forget your regrets. The many years you have lived have been filled both with success and with experiences you might change if you could. But you can’t, so stop any self-inflicted sadness or despair. When the Savior said, “Judge not,” he was speaking, in part, about your relationship with yourself (see Matt. 7:1). Live the repentant life happily. The scripture “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25) applies to you right now.
Bernard Baruch, on his eighty-fifth birthday, said (in a news report dated 20 August 1955), “To me, old age is always fifteen years older than I am.” Yes, there is much for you to do.
Shifting now to a different perspective, those who are younger may ask, “What can we do?”
First, it is certainly our responsibility to keep in touch with you our parents, our grandparents, and elderly friends, to say hello and to express our love for your influence. Perhaps we should place a telephone call this afternoon or write a letter or note to say “remember when”—and then—thank you dad, mom, bishop, teacher, or friend.
Second, we must develop a partner relationship with you that will help all of us serve better in the kingdom by serving together. You stake presidents, bishops, quorum presidents, and auxiliary leaders are to call our older members to positions of meaningful responsibility. Can any of us imagine what the body of the General Authorities would be like without those magnificent men in their eighties and nineties who inspire, teach, and help carry the kingdom forward?
Third, we must listen carefully to what you older and often wiser people have to say. A listening heart is a loving heart. Please forgive our impatience and may we concentrate upon your counsel.
Fourth, we must be certain as we hurry through life that we tend to your needs as you have so kindly tended and cared for our needs through decades of patience and love. May we wipe away your tears as you have so skillfully and lovingly wiped away ours.
In closing, I say to you—our elder mentors, our examples, some of our dearest friends—thank you, and may we be one, as the Father and the Son are one, I pray in the blessed name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I learned this formula in my own life. I started working for a big oil company shortly after I was baptized. These truths about work came into my life and led to my progress in the company.
One manager in particular at the company had a lot of power. He requested that each department send two people to help him do an inventory. And he said the only requirement was that the people knew something about accounting.
I had studied at a trade school, and I had a certificate from my accounting classes. My department boss said, “Go tell him that you are going to help with the inventory and that you are an accountant.” He wanted to see the reaction of the other man because I was so young.
When I arrived, the manager asked what I wanted. I answered, “I’m going to help you do the inventory.” I did as I was instructed by my boss and told him I was an accountant. He laughed.
Then he said, “Well, Mr. Accountant, come to my chair. Take this adding machine, and add everything in every column as fast as you can.”
I started with one finger, very slowly. He pushed me out of the chair and said, “You don’t know anything; you are going to be punished. You are going to sit there in a chair in front of me for two weeks, watching how I do the work.”
I moved to another chair. He said, “Watch me.” He started adding so fast, not even looking at his hands. I was amazed. I thought he was joking about having me watch him work for two weeks, but he wasn’t.
That first day I sat there for six or seven hours. That evening I stayed after work and waited for everyone to leave the building. Then I went to his office and changed the roll of paper in the adding machine and started practicing adding the same columns he did. For hours I worked and got faster and faster and faster. When I felt I was doing it as fast or faster than he did, I went to sleep for an hour or two.
The next morning I just washed my face and went out the front doors when they opened early, then walked in again after the manager arrived. I knocked on his door. He said, “OK, you sit there and watch what I’m doing.”
When he started on the adding machine, he seemed slow to me. I had practiced for seven hours straight. I gently pushed him aside and asked him to sit in my chair. I started adding so fast. He was surprised.
He said, “What did you do?” He forced me to tell him. He said, “From now on, because you learned this, you will work with me, and I’m going to teach you everything I know.”
I switched departments. After a few years he resigned, and I was able to take his place because of his recommendation. I used effort and concentration, and I was happy in what I was doing. I was not angry because he punished me at first.

The note was written on blue paper with zigzags drawn around the corners, so even though Jeremy handed it to her, Melanie knew the note was from Rachel. Melanie glanced around. Reading time was over, and her classmates were putting away their books.
Melanie knew how the note would start: “Dear Best Friend.” She smiled to herself. She and Rachel had been friends since second grade. “We’re still best friends, even though we’re very different,” Melanie thought as she unfolded the note.
Dear Best Friend,
Do you smoke?
—Rachel
Melanie was surprised. “Rachel and I are together all the time,” she thought. “Doesn’t she know I don’t smoke?”
She wrote on the bottom of the paper:
No. I think it’s gross. Why do you want to know?
—Melanie
Melanie handed the note back to Jeremy. Soon he passed it back again. Melanie read:
I snuck a pack of cigarettes from my aunt’s house. Do you want to try some with me after school?
—Rachel
Melanie stared at the note. Then she wrote:
Rachel! Why do you want to smoke? It’s bad for you! I know you like to try new things, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.
—Melanie
Rachel wrote back:
A few cigarettes aren’t going to hurt me. I might not even finish the whole pack.
—Rachel
Melanie felt like she was going to cry. She wrote:
You’re my friend and I love you. Don’t smoke.
—Melanie
Melanie watched Rachel as she read the note. Now Rachel looked like she was going to cry. She held onto the note for a long time. Then she wrote back. When Melanie got the note, she read:
Thanks. I love you too. I won’t smoke the cigarettes.
Melanie was grateful she had chosen to be an example. She felt relieved that Rachel had made the right choice.

My brothers and sisters, I begin by sharing an event from a large ward in Provo about 20 years ago. During a sacrament meeting, a little boy made a big disturbance. After several minutes of trying to quiet this noisy three-year-old, the mother desperately handed him to the father, who was seated on the aisle close to the front of the chapel. By this time the noise distracted the speaker and audience, and everyone was very conscious of the parents’ plight. The father’s patience was much shorter than the mother’s. In a few moments he put the little boy over his shoulder, stood up, and started for the back door. Looking back over his father’s shoulder and sensing his determined steps, the little boy became quiet and apprehensive. Just as the father approached the rear door of the chapel, the little fellow reached his arms out toward the stand and shouted, “Bishop, help!”

Shula’s talent has put her in great demand with several different groups, so Shula has to make a lot of tough decisions about how she will spend her time. At these times, Shula relies on guidance from both her earthly parents and her Heavenly Father to make the best choices.

For example, Shula recently auditioned for the renowned National Youth Music Theater. She was offered a part in Pendragon, which will tour Scotland and be presented at the Edinburgh Festival—an event frequented by talent scouts and televised throughout Britain.

Unfortunately, rehearsals will coincide with school G.C.S.E. exams, so she declined. The director even phoned her personally to try to change her mind, informing her she’d been chosen for outstanding musicality.

A dilemma. Education versus opportunity. Education won.

“Sometimes things feel like a sacrifice,” Shula agrees, “but I enjoy what I’m doing so much that it really isn’t. It’s all worthwhile.”

I saw that a few years ago in a deacons quorum where I had been called to teach the lessons. A few of the deacons failed to come to the quorum meetings from time to time. I knew that the teaching in that quorum—and in every quorum—was the charge of the president, who had keys. He was to sit in council with all of them. And so I have made a habit of seeking the counsel of the one with the charge from God by asking him, “What do you think I should teach? What should I try to accomplish?”
I learned to follow his counsel because I knew God had given him responsibility for the teaching of his quorum members. I knew one Sunday that God had honored the charge to a young quorum president. I was teaching the deacons. I noticed an empty chair. There was a recording device sitting on the chair, and I could see that it was running. After the class, a boy sitting next to the empty chair picked up the recorder. As he started to leave the room, I asked him why he had recorded our discussion. He smiled and said that another deacon had told him that he wouldn’t be in the quorum that day. He was taking the recorder to his friend at home so that he could listen to our lesson.
I had trusted in the responsibility given to a young quorum president, so help from heaven came. The Spirit came to touch the members in that room and sent one of them to a friend to try to strengthen his faith and lead him to repentance. The deacon carrying the recorder had learned according to the covenants, and he reached out to help his friend and fellow member in the quorum.

“I remember that story of Nephi,” Brother Grossenheider said in his raspy old voice. “I was a deacon once, you know. But I was 16 or 17 years old. I didn’t know they sent young bucks like yourselves to do this kind of work.” He squinted at the sky. “I haven’t been to church in 60 years. But I remember doing fast offerings a few times when I was a deacon.”
He paused. “I’d forgotten all about that.” He turned the envelope over and over in his hands and examined it. “That used to be an important job, fast offerings. The bishop took us around in a wagon, and we loaded that wagon with eggs and tomatoes and carrots and meat, sometimes a chicken or two. And we drove right over to the people who needed it and gave it to them. They surely were glad to get it. Nineteen thirty-six, it was. Lots of people out of work. The Depression, you know.”
He looked keenly at us over his glasses. “No, I guess you don’t. But it was an important job back then. I suspect there’s still people in need, eh.” He looked at us sharply. “You boys look mighty young to be doing important business like this.”
We didn’t answer.
He shook the envelope at us again. “Can’t fit a chicken in here. How does this work?”
Reggie and I exchanged glances. “You just put some money in it,” I said and shrugged again. “Whatever you can afford.”
“Yep,” Reggie said and put his hands in his pockets. “And then the bishop takes care of it from there.”
The old man nodded and thought for a moment. “So I’m Laban, eh?” he said and squinted his eyes at us.
We looked at the ground, embarrassed, and adjusted our feet.
He took a dollar bill from his pocket. “I don’t have much,” he said and slid the dollar into the envelope. Then he stood and slowly walked to us with the envelope, his cane supporting his left side.
“You’ll be back next month?” Brother Grossenheider asked, handing me the envelope.
“Yes, sir, we will,” I said.
He worked his way up the porch steps with his cane, groaning as his legs lifted his body to each level. At the top he turned around and paused as his hard breathing settled to a quieter mode. “You boys close that gate when you leave, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and we did.
When we got to the street, Reggie said, “You know, I was thinking how the quorum needs a service project. Maybe next month we could ask Brother Grossenheider about helping with his yard. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go tell Brother Baron.” I turned and ran. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

Wilford loved to play with his two brothers, Thompson and Azmon. They spent many happy hours playing in the barn or outside in the fields.
One Saturday evening the boys were sitting around the house with nothing to do. Thompson suggested that they explore the attic.
The boys’ father had told them not to play in the attic. It was dark and dangerous. Wilford hesitated because he didn’t want to disobey his father. But the mystery of the attic attracted him, and he agreed to join in the adventure.
The boys raced up the stairs, eager to see what treasures they would find in the forbidden room.
Just before Wilford got to the top stair, he tripped and fell all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
Wilford felt a horrible pain in his arm, and he knew that he had broken it. It took a long time for his arm to heal, and Wilford learned how important it was to be obedient.
From then on, not only did Wilford obey his parents, but he also obeyed the Lord. And many years later, Wilford Woodruff became the fourth President of the Church.