Gospel Story Finder

I think of a little story President Benson told us a short time ago when he told about being at a banquet back in the East. He sat next to a minister, and the minister said: “Mr. Benson, I’d like to visit with you after the banquet.” So they got in another part of the building, and he said: “Now there are two things in your church we would like to copy.”

Brother Benson said: “And what are they?”

“Well, first, it’s your missionary system,” he said. “You send your missionaries all over the world. You don’t pay them; you make them pay their way to their field of labor, maintain themselves while they are there, and all the Church does for them is to pay their return fare when they come back.” He said: “Now in our church, we have a missionary fund. But,” he said, “we offer to pay our men to the field of labor, to maintain them while they are there, and then to return them after they are released—and we can’t get anybody to go!”

As I looked over my new visiting teaching assignment, I saw the name of a new member of our ward. I felt apprehensive about calling someone I didn’t know, but my companion and I made an appointment to visit Jane (names have been changed). We arrived on the appointed morning and quickly said a prayer before approaching the door. We found Jane and her three young sons waiting for us.
As we grew closer to Jane through our monthly visits, we also tried to get to know her sons. The two youngest would sit next to my companion and me, and we would read them books and play with them. But four-year-old Alex, the oldest of the three, was not so eager to warm up to his mother’s frequent visitors. He was independent and hesitated to become friends with us.
I had been Jane’s visiting teacher about a year when I received a call that Jane’s house was on fire! My husband and I felt prompted to grab crackers, bottled water, and toy cars and to hurry over to see if we could help. We found Jane standing on the sidewalk across from her smoldering home. Jane’s husband had joined the firefighters to take stock of the damage while Jane comforted their three crying children, who were clinging to her knees.
When we spoke to her, she told us she was eager to join her husband. We took her two youngest children to our car. They were hungry and thirsty, and I was grateful for the inspiration of the Holy Ghost to bring food and water. They were soon content. But Alex, still sobbing, held tightly to his mother. Jane could not take him with her, and she felt torn between going to her husband and comforting her son.
I encouraged her to go and then leaned over and asked Alex if I could hold him while his mom went to find his dad. To my surprise, he agreed. When I scooped Alex into my arms, he rested his head on my shoulder, and I rubbed his back. While Jane went to find her husband, I whispered comforting words into Alex’s ear. I could feel his sobs slow and his breathing relax.
As we stood on the sidewalk, Alex said softly to me, “You’ll take good care of me ’cause you’re my mom’s teacher.”
I quietly shed tears as I realized that Alex knew we were important in his mother’s life. He recognized that he could trust and rely on me to take care of him too ’cause I was his mom’s teacher.

A grouchy neighbor became a friend to one family who chose to serve him rather than take offense. “We felt prompted to go over as a family and offer Mr. Sloan some service,” says the father. “We took him some homemade bread and washed his outside windows because they were hard for him to reach.
“The children claimed they had never seen him smile before. But they’ve seen that smile a lot since that day. Bobby, seven, collects Mr. Sloan’s mail for him every day after school. Susie, twelve, walks Mr. Sloan’s dog on a leash around the block. And Peter, fifteen, mows his lawn.
“Serving Mr. Sloan has taught our family to love him, and we think he has learned to love us.”

Diligence is persisting in doing something in spite of opposition.1 Dora first learned how important—and how difficult—diligence can be after she was baptized in 1998.
When Dora was 17, she and her younger sister Alicia were baptized—helping lead to the growth of the Church in the islands of the Uros. About a month later, however, their father forbade them from having anything to do with the Church.
But something odd happened to the girls. They were suddenly less pleasant to be around and more likely to argue. Their father realized that during the time they were participating in Church activities, they had changed for the better.
“It changed his mind,” Dora says. “He began waking us up early to make sure we got to church on time.”
Dora attributes the change the gospel made in their lives to small things she and Alicia did regularly, like paying tithing, praying, studying the scriptures, keeping the Sabbath day holy, and renewing their covenants weekly by taking the sacrament.
Later, having seen for himself the changes that come from faith and diligence,2 Dora’s father joined the Church along with the rest of the family.

Karen Nielson was born in Aalborg, Denmark, in 1844. She was the daughter of a farm family. In her early years she was taught the skills of successful dairy farming at the knee of her father.
In 1861, Karen was baptized and was never able to return to her home because of her father’s opposition to her conversion. She left Denmark and immigrated to Utah with a group of Scandinavian Saints in 1862. She lived for a few years in Utah County where she married Benjamin Franklin Barney, and then they were called to settle the Sevier Valley.
Karen bore ten children and then was left a widow with several of her children still at home. She had no close family to return to, so she drew on the knowledge she had gained on the Danish farm. She improved the dairy herd using the breeding skills she’d learned from her father. Her herd was soon recognized as one of the finest in the area, and she was able to support her family and care for their needs. Until Karen was well into her eighties, she milked her cows night and morning and cared for her farm with the help of her sons and grandsons. Her legacy was one of hard work and the knowledge that our lives are only as good as we make them. She never turned away from hardships—they seemed only to strengthen her.

Countless are the acts of service provided by the vast army of Relief Society visiting teachers. A few years ago I heard of two of them who aided a grieving widow, Angela, the granddaughter of a cousin of mine. Angela’s husband and a friend of his had gone snowmobiling and had become victims of suffocation through a snowslide. Each of them left a pregnant wife—in Angela’s case, their first child, and in the other case, a wife not only expecting a child but also the mother of a toddler. In the funeral held for Angela’s husband, the bishop reported that upon hearing of the tragic accident, he had gone immediately to Angela’s home. Almost as soon as he arrived, the doorbell sounded. The door was opened, and there stood Angela’s two visiting teachers. The bishop said he watched as they so sincerely expressed to Angela their love and compassion. The three women cried together, and it was apparent that these two fine visiting teachers cared deeply about Angela. As perhaps only women can, they gently indicated—without being asked—exactly what help they would be providing. That they would be close by as long as Angela needed them was obvious. The bishop expressed his deep gratitude in knowing they would be a real source of comfort to her in the days ahead.

My name is Eric, and I love to play basketball. According to Eddy, our team’s student manager, I’m the fifth grader most likely to make a shot. Mom says I play so well because I play so often. “Practice makes perfect,” she says. Today I discovered that I could use some practice at something besides basketball. …
At lunch, my friend Kurt and I were walking toward our usual table, when I saw Trevor sitting alone, picking green pepper bits off his pizza. All of a sudden, I had a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn’t entirely because of green peppers.
Trevor is a boy who comes to our ward sometimes. Yesterday Sister McQueiry, my Primary teacher, asked me to stay after class. She told me that the ward had set a goal to reach out to less-active members and that she needed my help. She knew that Trevor went to my school, and she asked me to invite him to Primary. I told her I would. When I saw Trevor, I knew I should talk to him right away, but I didn’t want to.
I mean, what would he think if I walked over there and just started talking? What would everyone else think? If he were an OK guy, why wasn’t anybody else sitting by him? Besides, this was only Monday, and I had all week to ask him to Primary. So I sat with Kurt at our usual table.
I must’ve felt a little guilty, though, because I ate my pizza, salad, corn, and chocolate cake a lot more slowly than usual. After about fifteen minutes, everyone else was out on the playground, but I was still eating my slice of pizza. The lunchroom was practically empty—except for Trevor and me.
I finally went over and sat by him. He was really quiet at first, but when I asked him about Boston, where his family had moved from, he started talking. I was so busy listening to him that I missed the entire lunch recess, and I barely remembered to ask him to church the next Sunday. I felt relieved to have my “Trevor assignment” over with.
I rushed home and played about ten games of one-on-one with Kurt before dinner. At family home evening, my sister, Kim, gave the lesson. It was all about the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31–46 [Matt. 25:31–46]. It compares the sheep to righteous people and the goats to wicked people. In verses 33–38 and 40, it says: “And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left.
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you …
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? …
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, … Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
As I listened to the parable, I thought about Trevor eating lunch all alone. Then I thought about Jesus. “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” Was I really ignoring Jesus when I ignored Trevor?
Kim ended her lesson, and Dad asked if anybody had any questions. I raised my hand.
“Eric?” asked Dad, a little surprised.
“I just wanted to know,” I started, not sure how to ask my question, “if you do something good, but it takes you a while to do it and you really didn’t want to do it, but you did it anyway, would you be a sheep or a goat?”
Dad gave me a look of real concern. “What are you talking about?” he finally asked. And so I told him about Trevor.
“It sounds to me as if you knew the right thing to do and you did it.” I felt relieved to hear Dad’s answer. “But,” he added, “your attitude could use a little work.”
“You’re a sheep,” Kim decided. “Pretty much, anyway.”
“Today you were kind because you knew it was right,” Mom added. “In time, I hope you will help others because you love them as Jesus does. But it will take time and practice.”
I wonder if you can be willing to practice love and service like you’re willing to practice basketball. I wonder if you can practice them while you practice basketball. I’ve decided to have lunch with Trevor tomorrow. He seems interesting. Besides, Trevor is even taller than I am. I wonder if he can hit the outside jumper.

Melanie Wellman tells a story in the Liahona entitled, "Who Needs My Help?"

"As a college student, I heard a wonderful Relief Society lesson on service. The teacher said, 'If you pray for Heavenly Father to open your eyes to the needs of others so you can help them, He will do so.'"

"That sentence stayed with me. I wanted to serve others but hadn't thought to ask Heavenly Father for help. So, I decided to give it a try. The next morning I knelt and prayed, 'Heavenly Father, if there is anyone who needs my help today, please let me know.' I finished my prayer and headed to class."

"Amid the hustle of the day, I forgot my prayer. During the afternoon I went to the grocery store. As I stood in line to pay for my groceries, I noticed an elderly woman who used a cane for support. I smiled at her and glanced at the groceries she was buying. I thought, 'How is she going to get those groceries into her house?'"

"With some frustration I countered, 'But what can I do? Follow her home?' I had an immediate strong feeling that this idea was correct, so I gave in and drove down the road after her. I kept thinking, 'This is crazy! Why am I following this woman home?' Soon we arrived at her apartment complex. I ran over to her and asked, 'Can I help you with these groceries?'"

"Puzzled, the woman looked at me and asked if I lived nearby. I told her I did not. 'Do you work here?' she asked."

"I explained that I had seen her in the grocery store and had worried about how she would carry all those groceries into her home. At that point she looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said, 'I was wondering the entire way home how I was going to get my groceries into my home.'"

"Later, as she drove home, Sister Wellman's eyes blurred with tears. She had experienced the wonderful influence of the Holy Ghost touching two lives."[14]

Mara buttoned her skirt and looked in the mirror. It felt funny to wear church clothes on a Saturday, but this was a special Saturday. It was general conference!
“Are you excited for the women’s session?” Mak (Mom) asked. She brushed Mara’s hair with quick, gentle strokes. “I want you to try to listen as much as you can.”
“Yes! I hope they tell pioneer stories!” Mara liked those best.
“Maybe they will,” Mak said. “Did you know your dad is a pioneer?”
Mara was confused. Her dad had never pulled a handcart.
“How is he a pioneer?” she asked.
Mak nodded toward the window, toward the river. “He was fishing there when he met the missionaries. He was the first one in his family to get baptized,” Mak said. “That makes him a pioneer! Now let’s go find your grandmother.”
Yiay (Grandma) was waiting for them in the front room. Mara’s family and her grandparents all lived together. Yiay helped take care of Mara after school while her parents worked. Now Yiay stood by the moped, the big motorized scooter that carried them around the city.
“The Church has only been in Cambodia for 25 years,” Mak told Mara as she opened the door and pushed the moped onto the street. “So we’re all pioneers. Even you!”
“How am I a pioneer?” Mara wondered as she got on the moped. Mak drove the moped, with Yiay in back and Mara in the middle. Mara held on tight as they zigged down the crowded street.
As they passed a café, the smell of tea wafted over them. Almost everyone here drank tea. But Mara didn’t. She followed the Word of Wisdom. Mara grinned. That’s one way she was a pioneer!
As the moped turned a corner, Mara saw a wat, a Buddhist temple. The red pointed roof rose above the other buildings. Monks with shaved heads and orange robes sat studying in the courtyard.
Mara knew that most people in Cambodia were Buddhist. They didn’t believe in Jesus Christ. But Mara did. “That’s another way I’m a pioneer,” thought Mara. And today she would get to listen to the prophet!
As the moped turned into the church parking lot, Mara saw lots of women arriving. Some had walked or ridden mopeds. Others arrived in tuk tuks, small carriages pulled by a motorbike. Many of the women wore dresses or plain skirts, like Mara did. And some wore sampots, beautiful long skirts made of colorful patterned fabrics.
Mara, Mak, and Yiay sat down in the chapel with the other women. Conference had actually happened a whole week ago in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. But now the people in Cambodia would be able to watch the broadcast in Khmer. Mara spoke both English and Khmer at home, and she also learned French in school. But many Cambodians just spoke Khmer.
The first speaker didn’t tell any stories about pioneers. But then the second speaker told a story about walking up a steep dirt path on her way home from school. It was called the “boys’ trail,” and sometimes she would take off her shoes and walk barefoot. She wanted to do hard things so she could be like a pioneer! Mara smiled as she thought about all the ways she was a pioneer.
The last speaker was the prophet. He stood tall. Mara listened extra closely. “I invite you to read the Book of Mormon between now and the end of the year,” he said. “The heavens will open for you. The Lord will bless you.”
Mara knew it wouldn’t be easy to read the whole Book of Mormon. She looked at the women around her. All of them had chosen to follow Jesus Christ. All of them had come tonight to listen to the prophet. She would follow the prophet, just as they did. She would be a pioneer!

In my profession as a farmer and a rancher, I’ve had a front-row seat to observe how a mother’s natural affection manifests itself even in nature. Each spring we take a herd of cows and their new calves up along Idaho’s Snake River, where they graze in the foothills for a month or so. Then we round them up and bring them down a road that leads to the corral. From there they are loaded onto trucks that carry them to their summer pastures in Montana.
On one particularly hot spring day, I was helping with the roundup by riding at the back of the herd as it moved down the dusty road toward the corral. My job was to gather any calves that had wandered from the road. The pace was slow and provided me some time to think.
Because it was so hot, the little calves kept running off into the trees to find shade. My thoughts turned to the youth of the Church who are sometimes distracted from the strait and narrow path. I also thought about those who have left the Church or who may feel that the Church has left their hearts while they were distracted. I thought to myself that a distraction doesn’t have to be evil to be effective—sometimes it can just be shade.
After several hours of gathering up stray calves and with sweat running down my face, I yelled to the calves in frustration, “Just follow your mothers! They know where they’re going! They’ve been down this road before!” Their mothers knew that even though the road was hot and dusty now, the end would be better than the beginning.
As soon as we got the herd into the corral, we noticed that three of the cows were pacing nervously at the gate. They could not find their calves and seemed to sense they were back on the road somewhere. One of the cowboys asked me what we should do. I said, “I bet I know where those calves are. Back a quarter of a mile [0.4 km] or so, there’s a stand of trees. I’m sure we’ll find them there.”
Sure enough, just as I had suspected, we found our lost calves taking a nap in the shade. Our approach startled them, and they resisted our efforts to round them up. They were frightened because we were not their mothers! The more we tried to push them toward the corral, the more stubborn they became. Finally I said to the cowboys, “I’m sorry. I know better than this. Let’s ride back and let their mothers out of the corral. The cows will come and get their calves, and the calves will follow their mothers.” I was right. The mother cows knew exactly where to go to find their calves, and they led them back to the corral, as I had expected.

“Five, six, seven, eight.” The music started, then stopped again. We had been practicing all morning!
“Sally!* Turn out more! Anne, your kicks are too low! Bethany, it’s a triple pirouette. Get it right! Give me 50, and do it again!” We sighed. We still had half an hour more of this.
It was my junior year and my first year on the school drill team. Being on drill team had always been my dream. We performed at basketball and football games, and everyone knew who we were! Being on the drill team would make my life fun.
From day one our coach informed us that we would call her “Mrs. Smith” because first names were too personal. Dancing was strictly business. I put everything I had into the practices. I was always on time and ready to work.
When Mrs. Smith passed out competition costumes, I felt sick. “What is that? It’s like a skimpy piece of fabric!” This was going against everything I had learned in Young Women. Life was crazy. During the week, it was school and drill team. On weekends it was competition. I had no time for church or family.
My older brother received his mission call, and we were all so excited for him. He told me when he would report to the Provo Missionary Training Center, and my heart dropped. It was the week before regional drill competition. I knew if I wanted to see him off, Mrs. Smith would cut me. I talked with her and hoped she would understand, but she threatened to take me out of all the routines. I was sorry, yet I didn’t let it shake my decision. I went to the MTC with my brother and family. I also danced at region and state competition, where our team took second both times.
At the end of the school year talk of tryouts began. Everyone expected me to try out again, and I assumed I would.
One night, as I was lying on my bed doing some scripture study, I felt strongly impressed to read my patriarchal blessing. As I read, I thought about the past year. What kind of person had I become in the past year? I was wearing immodest clothing for performances. I wasn’t going to church anymore. My relationships with my family had deteriorated. I had forgotten who I was. Where was my testimony? What were my priorities?
I went to my mom’s room and flopped onto her bed. We talked about what I had just discovered. We made a list of pros and cons, but she told me the decision was up to me.
That night many thoughts swirled inside my head. I knew what the right decision was, but I didn’t want to give up the popularity, the status, and the prestige of drill team. Did family and church mean enough to me to change?
I didn’t go to tryouts the next day. Never had I felt such relief and comfort about a decision. Although Mrs. Smith and my team accused me of abandoning them, I didn’t regret my decision. I had abandoned myself for too long and was ready to straighten out my priorities.

A few years ago, on a beautiful Halloween evening, my wife and I were in the temple in Kirtland, Ohio. In the late fall afternoon the sun was streaking through the old, wavy, hand-blown windowpanes. The building was light and airy and magnificent. Since some of my forebears were involved in its construction, I was humbled and honored to be under its roof. Within its walls and under its spell, I was enchanted by its beauty. I was so impressed with the building that I came back to Church headquarters and told the Brethren that it would be wonderful if that building were still operating as one of our temples. Elder Packer corrected my thinking when he said, “We do not have the building, but, when our people left, they took with them that which was important. They preserved the keys of the ordinances, the covenants, the endowment, and the sealing power. They took with them all the essentials which we have today.” So the Church cannot, in and of itself, be the temples, magnificent as they are, because the temple buildings alone do not bless. They are the exquisite containers for the pearls of great price administered therein by the priesthood of God.

The Bobcats’ soccer team was holding tryouts for new players and Jim’s dream had always been to play on that team. They were the city champs.
He ran all the way to the soccer field, but slowed down when he spotted the Bobcats’ black and bright yellow striped shirts. There they are, he reveled silently. All over the field, kicking, dribbling, and heading their soccer balls.
A small dark-haired boy was dribbling his ball along the edge of the sideline toward Jim. He ran like a whippet, keeping the ball close to his feet. When he saw Jim, he stopped and smiled. “Hi! Trying out today?” he asked.
Jim nodded.
“What position do you play?”
“Right or left wing.”
“Me too.”
The boy turned and started up the field. A No. 3 was printed on the back of his shirt. He darted and swerved, making quick turns as he dribbled among the other players. Jim watched him for a few moments. No. 3 is good and very fast, he decided.
Walking over to the coach, who was wearing a black sweat suit with the word Bobcats in yellow letters across the back, Jim took some deep breaths and tried to relax. His stomach felt kind of funny.
The coach was surrounded by boys in different colored shirts and shorts. He turned and, seeing Jim, smiled at him.
Jim swallowed. “My name is Jim—Jim Simpson,” he said.
“Ah! Yes, Jim! Your coach called and talked to me about you. So you want to play for the Bobcats?”
Jim nodded.
The coach smiled and pulled out a whistle from his pocket. He blew it once. All the Bobcats ran toward him.
“Ok, boys, let’s have a practice game. All of you not in uniform take off your shirts—the Skins against the Bobcats. You new boys, listen as I call your name and position.”
Jim finally heard his name. “Jim Simpson, right halfback.”
Right halfback! He had been playing wing for five years. It was his special spot. Jim decided not to say anything. All the boys ran out onto the field and took their positions. The coach blew his whistle and the game began.
The ball was kicked right by Jim. He hesitated momentarily and missed it. He glanced at the coach, but he wasn’t watching. The Bobcats’ No. 3 had control of the ball and was pressing hard down the field. Jim ran toward him and reached out to kick the ball away, but No. 3 had quickly turned and headed toward the sideline. Jim was right behind him. No. 3 stopped and tapped the ball up into the air with his foot. Jim ran around the player and reached for the ball, but No. 2 had already started dribbling away toward the penalty area. Jim raced after him. He saw No. 3 chip the ball to the waiting Bobcat center forward who was right in front of the net. The center forward jumped up and headed the ball down to the right of the goalie’s outstretched arms. It shot past the goalie and bounced off the back of the net.
As the Bobcats ran back toward the center of the field, No. 3 called to the Bobcat center, “All right!” “Good work, boys!” the coach congratulated them.
Jim looked down at his cleats and frowned. The Bobcats were a tough team, but maybe he could slow down their No. 3 by trying to keep him away from the ball. For the rest of the half, Jim stuck close to No. 3 and kept after him, never letting up. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face. His blonde hair stuck to his forehead.
Once No. 3 turned and said, “What are you, my shadow?”
Jim grinned and raced after him to the other end of the field.
But a few seconds later, his smile faded as he watched the Bobcats score again. No. 3 had assisted on the goal by swerving the ball around three Skin defenders to a waiting teammate, who turned and shot the ball under the crossbar. The score was now 2–0.
The game continued with the Bobcats easily passing the ball from one to another. The Skins chased after them, never getting control of the ball for very long. Twice the Bobcats shot at the goal and missed. Then late in the second half, the Bobcat sweeper sent the ball halfway down the field toward No. 3, who lightly turned the ball with his foot and started to work his way to the sideline. Jim ran beside him, trying to get the ball, but No. 3 was always a step ahead. Suddenly No. 3 stopped and tapped the ball up into the air with his foot. Jim muttered, “Just like last time.”
But this time Jim didn’t run to the side. As the ball started down toward the ground, he reached with his foot under No. 3’s right leg and backheeled it. He had a happy grin on his face as he turned and quickly moved the ball back down the field toward the Bobcats’ goalie. He dribbled around the Bobcat halfback and passed to the Skins’ center halfback, who streaked up the middle of the field. Jim kept up with him. He looked over his shoulder and saw No. 3 close behind him. Then Jim poured it on. With a burst of speed, he pulled ahead and turned toward his teammate, who passed the ball to him. He heard the Bobcat fullback, who was all by himself in front of the goalie, yell, “Help!”
Jim tore down the field toward them. The goalie crouched between the goalposts. Jim knew he had to fake the fullback out, and he knew how to do it. As the fullback tried to get the ball, Jim leaned his body to the left. The fullback leaned in the same direction. So did the goalie. With his right foot, Jim shot the ball past the fullback to an opening right between the goalpost and the goalie. The goalie dove down on the ball, but it slid out and Jim was right there. Stepping over the goalie’s arm, his left foot reached out and smacked the ball into the net. The score was now 2–1! A second later the coach blew his whistle. “Game’s over!” he called.
Raising his arms above his head, Jim leaped up into the air. He had worked hard for his goal.
No. 3 walked over to him. “Say, shadow, that was a good goal.”
“Thanks.”
“Jim!” the coach called across the field. “Stick around, I want to talk to you.”
No. 3 touched Jim’s arm. “Hope you made the team.”
Jim shook his head wearily. “I made a goal, but I don’t think I played good enough for the Bobcats.”
Sighing, he sat down on the grass. He watched No. 3 run down the field toward the water fountain. It looked like the Bobcats had a terrific wing. I’m just not fast enough, Jim concluded. Even if the coach asked me to be on the team, I’d probably spend all my time standing around on the sidelines. I’d probably never get a chance to play because their other wing is good too.
“That was some goal!”
Jim looked up as the coach sat down next to him.
“You have good balance—leaning one way and shooting with the other foot.”
“I saw it done on TV, and I’ve been practicing.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty serious about soccer.”
Jim smiled, “It’s my favorite sport. I’d like to learn how to play it better.”
“I’ve been watching you play, Jim. I came to quite a few of your games. You know it isn’t often that someone takes the ball away from Tony—he’s No. 3. He’s a fast wing, and you control the ball well. You’d make a good halfback. I think you two would make a great combination. How’d you like to come to the team’s regular practice next Tuesday?”
Jim could hardly believe what he heard. His eyes sparkled as he nodded his head. “I’d like that, coach. I’d really like to be a Bobcat.”
“Good, because that’s just what you are!”

Let me give an example. Some years ago, a young couple we will call the Joneses visited with their bishop about a problem the wife had. The details are not important, but through the direction of the Spirit, the bishop’s decision was that, among other things, Sister Jones would not partake of the sacrament for a period of time while she worked out some attitudes and problems.

With lots of love and support, she continued to attend meetings with her family, and few but her husband and the bishop were aware of the situation or even noticed that week after week she did not partake of the sacrament. At first she didn’t feel much difference; but as time went on, she became more and more desirous to be worthy to partake of the sacrament. She thought she had repented before, but as the real soul-searching deepened and as her desire to worthily partake of the sacrament increased, true fundamental changes began to take place in her life and in her actions and in her thinking.

More time passed. Finally, during one sacrament meeting, the Spirit bore witness to the bishop and to Brother and Sister Jones that the time had come for her to again partake of the sacrament. “Next Sunday,” the bishop said.

Next Sunday came, and Sister Jones sat again with her family, nervous, yet excited and full of anticipation. “Am I really worthy? How I want to be!” she thought. The sacrament hymn was more meaningful than ever. She sang with such feeling that it was difficult to hold back the tears. And the sacrament prayers—how profound! She listened so intently that every word sank deep into her soul—to take his name, always remember him, keep his commandments, always have his Spirit. (See D&C 20:77, 79.) “Oh, how I desire this,” she thought.

The deacons began to move up and down the aisles, and the trays were passed from person to person across the rows. As one young deacon got closer and closer to her row, her heart began to pound harder and harder. Then the tray was coming down her very row. Now her husband was holding the tray in front of her! Tears streamed down her face. There was a barely audible sob of joy, “Oh!” as she reached for the emblem of the Lord’s love for her. The congregation did not hear the sob, but they did notice the tears in the bishop’s eyes.

Life and hope and forgiveness and spiritual strength had been given and received. No one could be more worthy. Sister Jones truly wanted to have his Spirit. She wanted to take his name upon her. With all her heart, she wanted to remember him and keep his commandments. She wanted to repent, to improve, and to follow the guidance of his Spirit.

Today is Valentine's Day. You might know about the BYU-Idaho English student who received a B-minus on an important paper. In hopes of bettering his grade, and in the spirit of the Valentine's season, he left for his professor an extravagant heart-shaped box of chocolates with a preprinted inscription: "Be Mine." The following day he received in return a Valentine from the teacher. It read, "Thank you, but your grade is still be mine-us."

My family’s faith began years ago when my father was 10. When the U.S. Army, under General Douglas McArthur, left the Philippines because of Japanese advancement, they set up a training/recreational base outside Brisbane, Australia. My grandparents were dairy farmers on the Brisbane River and their farm became the base for the encampment of the American soldiers.
One day, while my father and his sister were milking the cows, a soldier, Danny Roberts, offered to give them a hand. He was lonely and his thoughts were of his home on a farm in America. Danny stayed for dinner, and when asked about his religion, he told the story of the First Vision.
With great interest, my family discussed what they had been taught, and asked the question of most investigators: “Could a young boy of 14 really see God and Jesus Christ in our day?” The feeling surrounding the conversation caused great contemplation. Eventually they determined that if Moses and Abraham in years gone by could see Jesus, then why not a prophet in our day as well.
A flicker of faith began in the Maurer family. Did they know for sure that this was true? No. Did they receive a personal visitation from Heavenly Father? No. What prompted them to take the next step? It was the Spirit of God impressing on their minds that this felt right, and a hope that this, maybe, was true.
Faith brings a power and a desire, and it motivates us to action. So strong was the feeling of faith that they wanted to find out more. The nearest Church meetinghouse was over two hours away, but they attended the next Sunday and loved the Spirit they felt there. They loved the people who were so genuine and friendly.
There were no missionaries because of the war, but the leaders and members taught and helped strengthen their faith in Jesus Christ. The family added to their faith and built a stronger understanding of the plan of salvation. Through sacrifice, their faith in Jesus Christ gave them a power they had not experienced in their life to that point.
I have often reflected on that unique experience that my father, his two sisters, Tess and Julie, and their parents had. They sacrificed, endured hardship, and changed their lifestyle—all because they felt that the Lord led this Church, which provides the greatest chance for eternal salvation and lasting happiness. There is a power that comes when faith is exercised.

Twenty-year-old Elaine Jack of Livingstone Ward, Scotland, found this to be so. “Not only was I the only LDS student at school where religious beliefs were mocked, but I was also the only active youth at church,” she says. “Now that I’m older, I don’t mind being different, but as a teenager I wanted so much to be accepted. Between ages 15 and 17 I stayed away from church. Until then I had relied on my parents’ testimony. This was not enough.

“It wasn’t until a caring Primary leader asked me to help with the children,” continues Elaine, “that I slowly began attending church again. I was still ready to find fault with everything. Then I studied the Book of Mormon in institute. That completely turned me around. By then I was ready to reach out and learn. The last three chapters of Second Nephi became especially significant to me.”

I used to give an assignment to students in my introductory psychology classes that involved turning the other cheek. (I know this may sound a little on the draconian side, and I did provide alternative assignments if students didn’t want to do this one. But most of them chose this.) Here’s how it went.

Students were to pick someone with whom they had an important and ongoing relationship—such as a spouse, a parent, a sibling, or a dear friend. It was to be someone who really cared about them and who was emotionally stable. They were to ask that person to pick one thing he or she would like the student to change within the relationship and to explain that thing in depth. That’s a pretty scary thing to do for most of us, especially with someone we’re close to. There were some ground rules, of course. The person had to agree to do this calmly, in a kind way, to stick to one issue, and to stop the discussion at any point the student asked them to. The students were not to defend themselves during this discussion but only to ask questions or restate what the other person was saying until they understood the other person’s point of view about this issue completely. Then, at another time, the students could give their point of view if they wanted to.

It’s pretty tough to take a nondefensive stance when we’re being criticized, but we can learn so much from this! I had lots of students say when they wrote about the experience, “What would have happened to my marriage if I’d never found out how my spouse felt about this?” Or, “I wish I had really understood my mother’s point of view before.” There were no disasters, I’m happy to report.

“At one tournament I met a soccer player from another state who wanted to know why I wouldn’t play on Sunday,” Jodi said. “That opened the way for me to tell him about the gospel. When he went home, we began writing letters to each other. I sent him a Book of Mormon. That was a little frightening for me. I didn’t know how he would react. But he read it and wanted to know more. So I sent him some Church pamphlets, and after a while he decided to be baptized.

Every time I turned around there was something new that I wanted to do. Then my teacher told my class we were supposed to write a book and turn it in. I was reluctant to even try because it seemed enormously boring to me. When I tried, I found that I liked writing, and I had all sorts of ideas to write down on paper. I am absolutely certain that I want to be an author. I wouldn’t even know I liked to write if I hadn’t been forced to do that assignment. My advice to you is to take every opportunity you can get to try new things. Don’t be judgmental before you try it.
Melanie Wise, 12Green River, Wyoming