Gospel Story Finder

Our daughter’s family dealt with a serious medical challenge, and dinners from kind neighbors were arranged. The first night, a hot pot of chicken noodle soup arrived, with a side of warm chocolate chip cookies. The next afternoon, friends dropped off lunch—chicken noodle soup and chocolate chip cookies. And that night, yes, chicken noodle soup and chocolate chip cookies was the dinner of choice provided by another good Samaritan. And the next night—you guessed it—another pot of chicken noodle soup and chocolate chip cookies arrived for dinner.
This isn’t just a funny story about chicken noodle soup and chocolate chip cookies. It’s a story of caring for a sister and her family in need. With each spoonful of soup and bite of chocolate chip cookie, our daughter and her family felt loved and supported. Each pot of soup and plate of cookies was made from a different recipe unique to each sister. Isn’t that the way we are in our service? We reach out in our own uniqueness, with our own ways and personally inspired recipes. We don’t get hung up on what to do; we just do it.

I want to thank you for the wonderful, uplifting stories in the Friend. I go home teaching with my father each month. The family we visit has little children, and I always read through the Friend to find a story to share. It’s good for the children because the stories are not only fun but also teach gospel principles.
Recently, after my dad taught the lesson, I told the children a story from the July 2005 Friend called “The Giraffe Lesson.” It was about a girl who stole a toy from the store and felt bad about it afterward, so she returned it. My father and I then talked about honesty, and I told a personal story related to the topic. It turned out to be one of our better lessons.Mel B., Oregon

Marco slowed his already slow walk. Somehow he didn’t feel like going home for pranzo (lunch). Usually Carlo ran home with him, but Carlo was angry.
“Why can’t you play in the championship?” Carlo had demanded.
“Because it’s on Sunday.”
“If you don’t play, we forfeit!” Carlo had yelled. “With Guiseppe sick, you’re our only goalie. You have to play!”
When Marco reached home, he was reluctant to go in. But he knew that Mama and Papa were waiting, so he slowly climbed the stairs to their appartamento (apartment).
Mama was already putting food on the table. “I was beginning to worry,” she said with a smile. “Hurry and wash.”
Marco didn’t feel like eating. But after the blessing he bit into the crisp hot bread. Then he dug into the gnocchi (little dumplings) covered with Mama’s salsa. As he savored the spicy goodness, he began to feel better.
“Is anything wrong?” Mama asked. “You’re quiet today.”
“They posted the soccer schedule at school,” he said.
“Oh?”
“I have to play on Sunday.”
Mama and Papa were quiet for a minute. They knew that Marco’s team, the Lightning Bolts, had worked hard for a chance to be the top team in all of Milan, Italy.
Papa looked puzzled. “You mean all the games are on Sunday?”
“No, the quarterfinals and semifinals are on Saturday. The winners on Saturday play the final game on Sunday.”
Marco could see a twinkle start in Papa’s brown eyes. “Cheer up, Marco,” he said merrily. “Maybe your team will lose on Saturday! Then you won’t have to play on the Sabbath!”
Marco smiled too. But the Lightning Bolts were very good. They had a chance to win both games Saturday. “Giuseppe has the flu, and Tommaso hurt his ankle,” he explained. “If we win Saturday, I have to play on Sunday—or we forfeit. What do I do?”
Mama put her arm around his shoulders. “We’ve taught you what is right. If your team wins, I’m sure you will make the right decision. Now eat, or you’ll be late for school.”
At school some of the boys whispered and stared at Marco. Carlo just ignored him. It made Marco hurt inside to lose his best friend.
At practice that night, Carlo finally talked to him. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked angrily.
Marco started to get angry himself. Then he remembered Papa and grinned at Carlo. “I think we’d better work on winning Saturday’s games,” he said. “If you don’t practice kicking, we won’t have to worry about Sunday!”
Friday night Marco felt restless and scared. He wished his parents had told him he couldn’t play. Then the boys would blame them instead of him.
Even though he felt sick inside, Marco knelt down to pray. He prayed hard and then waited for an answer. He waited and waited, but nothing happened. He wondered if Heavenly Father hadn’t heard him. But then a warm feeling came to him. He felt very peaceful. All the restless hurts eased. He knew that everything would be all right.
Saturday morning came bright and clear. There was just a wisp of clouds in the sky. The air was sharp and invigorating. It was a perfect day for soccer.
The Lightning Bolts were well prepared and won the first game easily. Lounging around after a light lunch, they looked at the schedule.
“We play the Tigers!” Carlo groaned. “They’ve got the biggest boys in the tournament.”
“And the fastest,” Marco added. “We’ll really have to play hard to beat them.” Part of Marco wanted to win the game, and part of him wanted to lose—then he wouldn’t have to worry about Sunday.
It was a hard-fought match. The speedy Tigers scored the first goal, but the Lightning Bolts fought back and evened the score. After that, the teams traded goals. They were tied 4–4 in the final minutes of the match, when Carlo headed a pass into the net to put the Lightning Bolts on top.
With less than a minute remaining, Carlo had the ball again. He weaved in and out of the Tigers, heading for the goal. Then he tripped and lost the ball! The Tigers brought it back with swift, sure passes straight toward Marco.
Marco stood in front of the goal as the last seconds of the match ticked away. If he could keep the ball out of the net, the Lightning Bolts would win!
A Tiger forward kicked the ball—hard! It was headed for the corner of the net, just beyond Marco’s reach. Marco’s heart seemed to stop beating. He threw himself to the right with all his strength. The ball bounced off his hands just as the whistle blew. He had done it! The Bolts had won!
Marco’s teammates were jumping and cheering. He picked himself up and brushed off the dirt. He saw his parents walking toward him. They were smiling and waving. The head referee was with them.
“Marco, that was good playing,” Papa said, giving him a hug. Then he said, “I want you to meet Mr. Giovetti.”
“Hello, Mr. Giovetti,” Marco said politely.
“Hello, Marco. That was a fine game. But your father tells me you have a problem.”
“I can’t play tomorrow,” Marco told him. “The team will have to forfeit because we don’t have another goalie.”
“Why can’t you play?”
“Because the game is during my church’s sacrament meeting,” Marco explained, “and I need to be there. But even if the game were later, I still wouldn’t play on the Sabbath.”
“I see.” The referee thought for a moment, then said, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
The team gathered around. When Mr. Giovetti came back, he had another man with him. “Marco, this is Mr. Luigi. He is the coach of the team you are to play tomorrow.”
“Hello, Marco,” Mr. Luigi said. “It seems that we have the same problem. Two of our best players were injured today. We still have enough boys to play tomorrow, but we wouldn’t be at our best. I would like to postpone the game. Is that all right with the Lightning Bolts?”
Marco looked around at his friends and the coach. They all nodded. “Yes!” Marco said. “When do we play?”
“Next Saturday,” the referee answered. “Bright and early.”
As Marco walked home, he felt tired but good. His prayer had been answered. Even if the Lightning Bolts lost the championship, he would always remember it as a victory.

However, during my freshman and sophomore years of high school, I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. My new friends and I thought it was better to drink and fight instead of going to school, and I failed a lot of my classes. At the end of my sophomore year, the high school principal told me it would be best if I didn’t come back to school.
I called Spencer and told him what had happened. Without missing a beat, he said to come to his high school. He lived in a town about 35 miles away. After talking it over with my mom, I accepted Spencer’s family’s invitation and moved in with them. That turned out great, because I was able to make up all the classes I had failed and graduate on time. And we were able to continue doing rodeo!

When Wilford was 17 years old, his father arranged for him to continue going to school.
Wilford: But Father, I can’t afford to attend school in West Hartford!
Father: If you do chores for my friend, he will pay your room and board.
Wilford went to school but became terribly homesick.
Wilford: I miss my family, and I want to return home!
In order to avoid feeling homesick, Wilford decided that he needed to stay busy by focusing more on his studies. He grew to love history and started reading every history book he could get his hands on.
One day Wilford picked up the Bible and started to read it. Although he began reading it to learn about Christian history, he gained a testimony that the Bible was the word of God.
Wilford: I resolve to diligently seek the Lord, follow the Holy Spirit, and do the will of God as far as I can learn it!

I saw that same miracle in the bedroom of a man who had given sufficient faithful service to think that he had done enough to rest.
I knew that he had undergone lengthy and painful treatment for a disease and had been told by the doctors that it was terminal. They offered neither treatment nor hope.
His wife took me to his bedroom in their home. There he was, lying on his back on the top of the carefully made-up bed. He wore a freshly pressed white shirt, a tie, and new shoes.
He saw the look of surprise in my eyes, laughed quietly, and explained, “After you give me a blessing, I want to be ready to respond to the call to take up my bed and go to work.” As it turned out, he was ready for the interview he would soon have with the Master, for whom he had worked so faithfully.
He was an example of the fully converted Latter-day Saints I meet often after they have given a life of dedicated service. They press on.

For my English GCSE exam (a qualifying test in specific subjects), I was required to plan and deliver a five-minute presentation on a topic of my choice. I chose to outline the Young Women programme of the Church and some of the standards I keep. I prayed that I would know if this was the right choice, and I felt that this would be the perfect chance for me to share some of my beliefs.
During my presentation I used lots of visual materials and shared the blessings I have received. The class seemed to genuinely enjoy my talk. My teacher also found it interesting and asked questions afterward. Not only did I get the grade I had hoped for, but more importantly, I was able to share the gospel with my friends.

An example of true love and inspired teaching was found in the life of the late James Collier, who had, through his personal efforts, reactivated a large number of brethren in the Bountiful, Utah, area. I was invited by Brother Collier to address those who had now been ordained elders and who, with their wives and families, had been to the Salt Lake Temple to receive those eternal covenants and blessings for which they had so earnestly strived.
At the banquet honoring this achievement, I could see and I could feel the love that Jim had for those whom he had taught and rescued. Unfortunately, Jim Collier at that time was afflicted with a terminal illness and had to persuade the doctors to allow him to leave the hospital to attend this final night of recognition. As he stood at the pulpit, a large smile came over his face. With tear-filled eyes, he expressed his love to the group. There wasn’t a dry eye to be found. Brother Collier quipped, “Everyone wants to go to the celestial kingdom, but no one wants to die to get there.” Lowering his voice, he continued, “I’m prepared to go, but I will be there waiting on the other side to greet each of you, my beloved friends.”
He returned to the hospital. His funeral service was held just a few weeks later.

“Can we visit Heavenly Father?” Tara asked Dad as she got ready for bed.
“Probably not for a long time,” Dad answered.
“Last summer we flew on an airplane to visit Grandma Hill. We could fly on an airplane,” Tara said.
“We can’t get there on an airplane,” Dad said.
“At Christmas, we went by train to see Grandpa and Grandma Flowers. Maybe we could go by train,” Tara said hopefully.
“I’m afraid a train can’t take us there, either,” Dad said.
“Sometimes we drive in our car to visit friends,” Tara told father. “Let’s go by car. Or, I know, we can go by boat.” Tara was remembering the boat ride they had taken across the river.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said. “Not even a car or a boat can take us to Heavenly Father.”
Tara felt sad. She wanted to visit Heavenly Father. Daddy pulled her onto his lap and kissed her forehead. “We can’t visit Heavenly Father, but you can talk to him,” Dad said.
“You mean I can call him on the telephone or send him a letter?”
“No, but there’s something else you can do. Think about it.”
As she got ready for bed, Tara wondered how she could talk to Heavenly Father. She still couldn’t figure out what Dad had meant.
When Dad came into her room to listen to her say her prayers, she knelt, then jumped up and hugged Dad. “I know—I can talk to Heavenly Father by saying my prayers!”
“That’s right,” Dad said, hugging her. “And he will always listen.”

The leaders at the Sandy Utah Hidden Valley Stake youth conference can’t hear themselves think, and as you might expect, it’s the youth making all the noise. So are the advisers doing anything to stop this racket? Hardly. Actually, they’re encouraging it.
Why? Because this is a construction site, and the young men and women are busier than a swarm of honeybees. They’re building a dairy and hay barn next to Brigham Young’s farmhouse at This Is the Place State Park in Salt Lake City, Utah, and they’re doing just about all of it themselves. They’re throwing up walls, laying down shingles, and much more, all while dressed in long pioneer clothing. It’s hot and the work is hard, but you won’t find anyone complaining here. They’re having too much fun.
The Hidden Valley youth decided to build the barn as both a service to the park and a way to kindle their own pioneer spirit.
“Everyone pulled together,” said Lance Banks, 18, a member of the stake youth council who helped plan the event. The whole stake got into the act. Materials and labor were donated by members who had the means or the right skills. “A lot of prayers were answered right there,” Lance says.
Today’s the big day for most of the physical work, but the youth have done a lot just to prepare for this event. First they dug the footings by hand, and then they helped assemble the structural frame. Now they’re hauling and cutting the lumber—which came from a 1904 railroad trestle that once spanned the Great Salt Lake—and using it to build the walls and a loft on each side. Just a little hammering, right?
Not exactly. Each of the nails being used is three inches long and thicker at the bottom than some nails are at the top. Not only that, but several are required to secure each board. They’ve been fashioned by a blacksmith to resemble nails used by the pioneers, and they’re making for some pretty sore muscles.
“It took a lot of strength,” admits Rob Hunt, 16. “I had to switch arms.”
After pounding for several minutes on the same nail, many of the young men and women are beginning to wonder how the pioneers ever got anything built. That’s where cooperation comes in.
“Teamwork is the most important thing here,” says Allison Berrett, 14, and she’s not joking. To finish driving some of the nails, quite a few of the young people are taking turns with the hammer, giving each other a break. Not only does the work go fast, but spirits are lifted as well, and several of them say that the hammering will be their most memorable part of the day.
With fatigue, heat, and constant noise all around, one might expect to see a slower pace as the day wears on. Not here. You’d be hard pressed to find someone willing to give up their post, even when it’s time to give someone else a turn.
“[The leaders] were telling us to get out of there because other people needed a chance to work,” says Kelly Peterson, 17, when her time was up. “I wanted to do more, but there were just too many people.”
It’s obvious that everyone wants to contribute, maybe because they’re beginning to realize the great pioneer legacy they’re becoming a part of. They’re grateful for what the pioneers gave them, and they’re learning to appreciate things the early Salt Lake settlers had to do without, like modern tools.
“It’s hard because you don’t get to use all the electric stuff you can, like a nail gun,” says Amanda Robinson, 16. “It teaches us how hard it was for the pioneers.”
“It makes you appreciate what you have,” says Robert Burton, 15.
Nate Smith, 16, sees another important lesson in these trials. “The sacrifices [the pioneers] made are things we can really turn to when we feel like we have it hard,” he says. “If they can do it, with the Lord’s help, why shouldn’t we?”
While they’re here, the youth are learning more about the pioneer lifestyle by touring Brigham Young’s home and visiting an authentic pioneer village. They’re also doing other small service projects, like weeding around the village, mowing Brigham Young’s lawn (tell that to your grandchildren), and tying quilts for a homeless shelter. Not many of the youth have ever tied a quilt before.
“It makes you feel like a real pioneer,” says 14-year-old Laura Campbell. “We’ve known about [quilting], but we just haven’t experienced it.” That seems to be the key: To fully appreciate what the pioneers went through, sometimes you have to be there.
“We’re pioneers ourselves,” says J. D. Price, 14, and he’s right. Never before has a group of nonprofessionals been allowed to do anything like this in the park, the place marking the spot where the first pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley. Whether or not others are invited in the future will depend on how everyone behaves today. No pressure, right?
Some of these youth are lucky enough to have pioneer heritage in their ancestry as well, and while it’s not necessary to gain an appreciation of pioneer history, it never hurts. Take Alicia Bruening, 18. She tells the story of how her great-great-great grandfather crossed the plains and helped build the great doors for the Salt Lake Temple. How does that make her feel?
“It’s really great, because one day when I get married, I’ll be so excited to go stand in front of those doors,” Alicia says. “It’s neat to see that my ancestry actually contributed to the temple. Part of me is in the temple.”
Back at the barn, the walls and the loft are nearly done, as young men and women continue to swarm around every corner of the building. The events of the day have given them a newfound appreciation for those who came before, and now they feel as if they’ve given something back.”
“It’s almost as if we’re rebuilding part of the past,” says Kelly Peterson. “Brigham Young walked around these grounds. He probably walked right where I was walking. He probably had a barn here at one time. We’re bringing it back to life.”
For these youth, this barn is a piece of their own history, a new legacy. “It’ll be cool to come back when you’re older and take your grandkids,” says Rosie Simmons. She and many others, including all of the stake Primary children, each signed their names to the back of one of the shingles adorning the roof. “It will be neat to go and say, ‘My name’s up on that,’” Rosie adds.
As the day winds to a close, many of the youth are taking the opportunity to step back and look at what they’ve added to the landscape here. Some are even drawing a comparison between barn and testimony construction.
“We’re starting out with the framework, and that’s the gospel,” says Abbey Daw, 15.
Her friend Rianna Berger, 14, continues the analogy. “The nails help strengthen your testimony,” she says. “A nail could be a talk that you heard, and a board could be something that someone said that really helped you.”
Put them all together and you’ve got a shelter to protect you from spiritual storms, just as a barn protects from physical elements. Building such a shelter is never easy, but that’s often what makes it worthwhile.
“You can’t do it unless it’s hard work,” Abbey says. “Hard work is the only way to gain a testimony.”
Now there’s something you can build on.

“Mom, will you make me a hard-boiled egg to take to the park?” Nathan asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Pull out the pan, please.”
Nathan took a pan out of the cupboard and carefully filled it with water. Mom helped him carry it to the stove, gently placed an egg in the water, and turned on the flame. Nathan loved hard-boiled eggs. Mom set the timer and then hurried to gather the other things they needed for the park.
“Please put your shoes on,” Mom told Nathan and Aria.
Nathan helped his little sister tie her laces. “We’re going to the park!” he told her. He held her hand and led her to the car. Mom helped them get their seat belts on, and they were on their way.
At the park, Aria liked following the ducks. Nathan threw sticks into the stream on one side of the bridge and watched the water carry them out the other side.
“Can I have my egg now?” Nathan asked.
Mom’s face froze with fear. “Oh no!” she said. “Your egg!” She jumped up from the bench and picked up Aria. “Nathan, I need you to run really fast. We left the egg on the stove and it could start a fire! We need to get home right away.”
Mom started running back toward the car. Nathan ran as fast as he could. As he ran, he thought about something he learned in Primary: “I can pray anywhere. I can pray anytime.”
“Well, I guess I can pray even when I’m running,” Nathan thought. He kept running, and inside his head he thought, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless our house to be safe. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
As soon as Nathan finished his prayer, he felt a warm feeling in his heart. He knew that it was the Holy Ghost letting him know everything would be all right.
“Mom!” Nathan said.
“What?” Mom slowed down a little.
“I just said a prayer in my heart and I felt a really warm feeling. I think our house is going to be OK.”
Mom stopped running and smiled. “Nathan, I am so glad you told me about your prayer. I feel much better now because the Holy Ghost always tells the truth.” Mom took Nathan’s hand and they walked to the car.
When they got home, the pan still had bubbling water in it. “It is a running-prayer miracle,” Mom said.
Nathan smiled. His heart felt warm and full. He knew that Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. “Mom, can I have my egg now? I think it’s probably done.”
Mom and Nathan laughed.

Saturday morning, when Dad said he had to cut Brother Ballard’s hay, I told him that I could take care of things at home. Ever since I had turned nine, I had been bragging that I was almost a man and could handle things on the farm about as well as Dad could. “I’ll be all right,” I insisted as Dad headed for the tractor. “Just let me look after the farm.”
“What about taking the cows and the General to the meadow?” Dad asked. “Can you do that all by yourself?”
I swallowed hard. The cows were no problem, but I’d forgotten all about ornery old General.
“I can help Jacob drive the General down the lane to the meadow,” Mom spoke up from the steps. She knew I was a little afraid of our big roan steer, General, and she’d always been the one to drive him to the meadow when Dad wasn’t around.
“I don’t need any help,” I insisted. “A man doesn’t need his mom herding the cows for him.”
“The General isn’t mean or anything,” Dad pointed out, “but he does have a mind of his own.”
I nodded. I knew all about the General. I was the one who had practically raised him. I’d fed him from a bottle and later taught him to drink out of a bucket. And when he got older, I brought him lots of grass and grain. What he liked best, though, was carrots, so I often got a handful of carrots from the cellar and let him eat out of my hand. He’d close his eyes and munch on those long, crisp carrots like they were orange candy bars.
When the General was still a calf, he even let me ride him. But then he grew to be more than 450 kilograms.
I still liked him, but I liked him from a distance, and I always wanted a fence between him and me. Even so, I said, “I’ll be able to handle the General.”
Dad nodded. “I know you can do it. You’re a good worker.” He started the tractor, then called to me, “Now, remember, Jacob, after you take the cows to the meadow, make sure that you close the gate at the top of the lane. I don’t want those cows in the alfalfa. They’d get sick for sure from eating it, and we could lose every one of them.”
“I know,” I said.
I fed the calves their grain and hay. I carried slop to our three pigs, Dandy, Pandy, and Mandy. I gathered the eggs from the chicken coop and gave the chickens their grain. I scattered fresh straw in the shed so that the cows would have a soft bed that night. Then I opened the corral gate so that I could herd our seven milk cows and the General to the meadow.
About that time the General decided that he wanted a drink from the water trough, so every one of those old cows decided she wanted a drink too.
Those cows always did everything he did. I yelled at them and waved a stick and threatened to throw a rock at them, but they didn’t care. They just followed the General. I had to just wait until that stubborn old steer decided he wanted to go to the meadow.
He sniffed at every clump of grass, every fence post, and every rock between the corral and the lane. And what did the cows do? Why, they sniffed at every clump of grass, every fence post, and every rock, too.
Since I couldn’t hurry those cows and the General along, I started daydreaming. Then a big old green frog came jumping through the tall grass and landed right in front of me. Well, I never let a good frog get away, so before long I had it in my hands.
I was looking for something to put my frog in, when right there, sunning itself on a flat rock, was the biggest water snake I’d ever seen. I dropped the frog and grabbed the snake right behind its head. It wrapped itself around my arm and stuck its red forked tongue out at me, but I just smiled and headed back to the barn for a bucket to put it in. The General and the cows were starting down the lane toward the meadow, so I decided to look after my snake then and close the gate later.
I didn’t think I was gone very long. I did stop for a drink at the water trough and let my snake take a swim, and I checked on our cat and her four kittens. That just took a few minutes, though. But when I got back, that ornery old steer had decided that he didn’t want to go to the meadow after all. Partway down the lane he’d turned around and headed toward the alfalfa field, and the seven cows had followed.
When I saw the General wandering toward the alfalfa, I dropped the bucket. My snake slithered out of it and off through the grass, but by then I was running for the gate.
I was too late. The General and the cows were through it and wandering along the ditch bank that led to the alfalfa field. Luckily he wasn’t in a big hurry. He’d sniff at fence posts, munch clumps of grass, and swish the flies from his back with his tail. I knew, though, that if he ever made it to the alfalfa field, he’d never leave. He’d stay until his belly was clear full; then he’d lie down, get sick, and die. And those silly cows would eat and get sick and die right with him.
I found a big stick and filled my pockets with rocks. Then I circled around in front of the General. I waved the stick over my head and stomped my feet. I tried to shout to get his attention, but my throat was so tight that all I could do was squeak.
Digging into my pocket, I pulled out a good throwing rock, reared back, and let it fly. It hit that old steer right on the nose. His head jerked up, and he shook his head and blew angrily through his wet nose.
I didn’t figure there was any need to get myself killed trying to keep those crazy cows out of the alfalfa. I dropped my stick, jumped the ditch, sprinted to the fence, flopped on my belly, and scrambled underneath the bottom strand of barbed wire.
When I finally opened my eyes, I expected to see the General on the other side of the fence, snorting and pawing. But he wasn’t anywhere around! He was still along the ditch bank, ambling closer and closer to the alfalfa field.
I thought of running to the house to ask Mom to help me, but after telling Dad that I was old enough to take care of things around the place, there was no way I could do that.
Then I thought about praying. Heavenly Father would help me out! I dropped right to my knees and asked Heavenly Father to get that stubborn steer straightened out and headed back to the meadow, away from the alfalfa field.
When I finished my prayer, I figured I’d just wait until Heavenly Father had a chance to get the job done. When I thought I’d waited long enough, I looked toward the meadow. There wasn’t a single cow in it. I looked up and down the lane. No cows. I looked along the ditch bank. And there they were, ambling along toward the alfalfa field behind that ornery steer.
I couldn’t believe it. Hadn’t Heavenly Father heard me? Wasn’t he going to help me out? Maybe I prayed for the wrong thing, I thought. I dropped to my knees again. This time I prayed that Dad would finish Brother Ballard’s hay and get home before the cows were dead.
It was a pretty long prayer. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t leave anything out. When I finished, I waited on my knees and counted to 200 to give Heavenly Father plenty of time to get the message to Dad.
As I got to my feet, I listened for the growl of Dad’s tractor, but I couldn’t hear anything. And all I could see coming down the road was a truck. I waited and waited, but Dad didn’t come. And the General and the cows were almost to the alfalfa field.
Tears were running down my cheeks as I ran past the barn, looking for a place to hide so that I wouldn’t have to watch the General kill himself. There was only one place I could go—I dashed down the cellar steps.
Once more I knelt down. This time, though, I just prayed that Heavenly Father would help me to know what to do and to be brave enough to do it.
When I finished praying, I sat down on a sack of carrots to think. I pulled one of the carrots out of the sack and absentmindedly wiped it off on my pants and started chewing on it. Then it came to me—I could turn the General around with carrots!
I hurriedly emptied the rocks from my pockets and stuffed carrots in their place. With my arms full of carrots, too, I raced up the cellar steps, past the barn, and over to the ditch. The General was still munching along the ditch bank a little way from the alfalfa, and the cows were munching right behind him.
I said one more quick prayer, then marched right up to the General and dropped the biggest, fattest carrot under his nose. That old steer didn’t even look up at me. His big long pink tongue just wrapped around the carrot and popped it into his mouth. That carrot gone, he looked to me for another one. I held one out and started walking backward toward the gate in the distance. The General watched me slowly walk away. At first he didn’t move. He took a long look at the alfalfa field and a long look at me. And then he came.
My heart was thumping wildly, but I kept moving closer to the open gate and dropping a carrot every few steps or so. As always, those silly cows stayed right behind the General.
I don’t know how long it took me to get to the lane, but by the time I got there, I was so worn out that I could hardly walk. As soon as the seventh cow went through the gate, I dropped the last two carrots and ran and closed it and even tied it with a piece of wire. Then I knelt right there and thanked Heavenly Father.
That night at supper time, I didn’t brag about taking care of everything. In fact, I just sat quietly and ate. When Dad asked me how things had gone that day, I mumbled something about getting along pretty well; then, to change the subject, I asked for another slice of bread.

As December 2021 approached, the Relief Society presidency in Peckham Ward, Wandsworth Stake, began to think about the kind of service they could give to their community. It was decided to prepare shoe boxes containing Christmas gifts.
One of the sisters, whose daughter attends a local primary school, spoke with the parent liaison officer to ascertain whether any children there could be supported in this way. It was agreed that the shoe boxes would be given to children who were from less well-off homes, as well as additional shoe boxes that would be given to siblings, even if they did not attend the school.
Within a few weeks, approximately 50 shoe boxes were beautifully wrapped and filled with gifts, including toys, hygiene items, school materials, hats, and gloves.
The element of service involved children painting small wooden-peg dolls, which were included in the shoe boxes.
There was great excitement as the children joyfully received their beautifully wrapped shoe boxes. A note from Beverley Ferguson, the school’s welfare officer, read:
“Thank you so much for the Christian charity gifts during Christmas time. The children and parents of Brunswick Park Primary School who received a gift were very grateful. ... When I asked what they thought of their presents, they said they found them very useful and helpful. Some of the children have been wearing the hats and gloves to school during the cold weather. Once again, I would like to thank you for all your help and the time that you have taken to do this for the children of the school.”

Normally Kylie would rather be playing basketball or watching a cat video—or doing anything besides homework. But Saturn was Kylie’s favorite planet, and she got to do her research project about it! Her eyes scanned the computer screen until she spotted an article about Saturn’s rings. This looks like a good one! she thought.
Click.
Suddenly something unexpected popped up on the screen. It was a picture of a person not wearing clothes. Kylie felt sick and scared. This is pornography! she thought. But the computer was supposed to have a filter that screened out bad things. What happened to the filter?
Kylie turned off the computer. She ran into her bedroom and knelt by her bed. “I didn’t want to see that bad picture,” she prayed. “Please take it out of my mind.”
As the week went by, Kylie kept asking Heavenly Father to erase the picture from her mind. But sometimes when she was reading a book or hanging out with her friends, the picture would pop back into her head. She felt guilty every time that happened, and she worried that Heavenly Father might be mad at her.
Finally, one night after the other kids were in bed, Kylie walked slowly toward the kitchen, her heart beating fast.
“Mom and Dad, I have something to tell you. I saw something bad on the computer. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t be mad at me.” She started crying.
Dad put his arm around Kylie’s shoulder. “Tell us about it.”
Kylie let it all spill out—how upsetting it was to see the picture, how she’d prayed and worried. “We’re so sorry you saw that,” Dad said. “But we’re even more sorry that you’ve felt so scared and guilty.”
“I’m going to check the filter right now,” Mom said, walking over to the computer.
Kylie still wondered about something. “Has Heavenly Father forgiven me?” she asked Dad.
“Heavenly Father loves you, and He knows exactly what’s in your heart and your mind,” Dad said. “He wants us to not look at bad things because they’re not good for us. But He knows you saw it by accident. And even if you’d seen that on purpose, He loves us and He forgives us when we repent.”
“But He hasn’t taken the picture away from my mind. I can still see it!”
Dad stroked Kylie’s hair. “When you see something shocking, sometimes your brain remembers it more. But as time passes, and you fill your mind with good things, they’ll start pushing the bad things away.”
“You mean things like scriptures and Primary songs?”
“Sure,” Dad said. “And things you love, like puzzles and art and friends.”
“What about basketball and cats?” Kylie asked.
“Those are very good things!” Dad said.
Mom joined them. “I fixed the filter,” she said. “But there’s another filter that will never fail. The Holy Ghost helps us recognize when things are bad. He can always help us.”
Kylie nodded. She knew the Holy Ghost was helping her feel warm and peaceful, telling her that Heavenly Father loved her and that her parents loved her too.
“Now can I fill my mind with something good?” she asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “What do you want?”
Kylie thought for a minute. “How about a cat video?”
Mom grinned. “Coming right up!”

Many young men with great talent never really make it in high school athletics. Conversely, many others with seemingly little talent end up playing first string varsity, making the all-state team. What is the difference? Some will tell you it’s luck, or a break, or a coach who likes them. Let me submit to you another idea. I believe those who play do so because they have a white-heat desire to play. When you want something with all the intensity of your soul, then other things are dwarfed in importance.
The desire to play obscures such things as dating, school politics, just being one of the boys, and fooling around. Self-discipline takes over, not because of a “have to” attitude but because of a “want to” attitude.
Let me share with you some things I have discovered over the years, especially while I was involved in football. I didn’t have much confidence, but I wanted to play almost more than anything else. The coach told us to eat a lot of beans and drink lots of milk. I didn’t like milk, but I drank it. I really wasn’t all that hot on beans, but I persuaded Mom to make a pot as often as I could. The coach said to be in bed by 9:30, and I was in bed by 9:30. It wasn’t hard to do because the desire to play overshadowed all these little things. One thing the coach asked me to do that I couldn’t do was work out on Sunday. He had asked each player to do calisthenics on an individual basis on Sunday. In this thing I followed the teachings of the Church.
At regular football practice I would do every calisthenic exercise the best I possibly could. I felt like I needed to do more than the other guy because he had more talent than I did. I only remember missing one football practice in three years, with the exception of when I broke my leg. The one practice I missed was for my grandmother’s funeral. And even at that age I hoped the funeral would be at a time other than practice. For four weeks after I broke my leg I would go out and watch the team play. After four weeks I persuaded the doctor to take the cast off, and six weeks after my leg had been broken I had the privilege of playing in another game.
Why do I tell you all this? Because I learned some great lessons from athletics. They have helped me through life. The young man who wants to play in high school athletics must discipline himself. The coach can lay down rules and regulations, but without self-discipline the rules and regulations only result in bodily movements or action. Self-discipline puts one’s heart into the program. It becomes something we want to do far more than the desire to just get by. Self-discipline imposes the need for self-motivation. I recall working in a grocery store during the summer; some of the other fellows worked in construction. I felt a need to make the eight hours a day I worked as strenuous as the eight hours they worked. I would force myself to run from one task to another. I would lift 100-pound sacks of potatoes and put them on a cart. Then I would push the cart with five 100-pound sacks to the display and unload the sacks, trying to hold each sack shoulder high without letting it touch my body. When football season came, I was in great shape physically.

In the summer of 1885, almost one hundred years ago, Colenda Chrilla Rogers was living with her family in Pleasant Grove, Utah—the strawberry capital of pioneer Mormondom. During that summer Colenda sewed a dress for her mother, wrote letters for her Aunt Lizzie, helped with the farm work, did the family washing, walked to Provo to see a circus, went regularly to Sunday School, picked wild berries, cut and dried apples and peaches, went on outings with her chums, and in general helped out with the work of home and farm, village and church.
We know about Colenda’s work and fun that summer because she kept a diary. Nor was it uncommon for pioneer girls to keep diaries. A number of these are in the Church Archives in Salt Lake City, in university libraries, and in the possession of family descendants.

Just a few weeks ago a young man, while at a Scout camp in the mountains east of Salt Lake City, was struck by lightning, which took his life. His parents, grief stricken and devastated at the sudden loss of their son, struggled quietly and asked why this happened. Because their hearts were submissive and their faith strong, there came a great outpouring of love from the Lord. In the midst of their grief came a quiet, tender resolve to accept without anger the outcome of this experience. With their acceptance came a larger vision of the purpose of life and a remembrance of the covenants that were in place. Though still filled with anguish from their sudden loss, they found themselves standing on a higher plane, committed to hold even faster to their covenants and to live such that they might be assured of a joyful reunion with their son.

My message centers on the importance in each of our lives of righteous friendships. In my youth, an inspired patriarch laid his hands on my head and by revelation opened to me an understanding of my potential—for who I really am—and gave a direction for my life, just like a patriarch has done for many of you. I was told that I would not lack for friends and associates, that their friendship would be a special blessing to me both temporally as well as spiritually. I was counseled to select for my closest friends those who were righteous and had a desire to keep the commandments of God.

That passage from my patriarchal blessing has been like a comfort blanket to me throughout my life. At times, especially while living away from home, those words have given me a peace and strength—my friends were standing by, although separated by many miles. And at such times I learned one of life’s most important lessons, that no matter how long I was away, no matter how great the distance, whenever my friends and I met again, it was as if nothing had changed. We picked up our lives where we left off, and it was as if time had stood still.

First example: When my wife, Elaine, and I went to Spain in 2022, we attended Sunday meetings in a small unit of the Church there. As I sat on the stand and my wife in the congregation, I noticed that she sat by an older woman. When the sacrament meeting ended, I walked toward Elaine and asked her to introduce me to her new friend. She did so and indicated that this woman, who was not a member of the Church, had been visiting the Church for about two years. When I heard that, I asked this God-fearing woman what made her come back and attend our meetings for such an extended period. The woman lovingly replied, “I like to come here because you speak of Jesus Christ in your meetings.”

Clearly, members of the Church in that unit in Spain talked, taught, and testified of Christ in their meetings.

During a stake conference assignment a few years ago while serving in South America, I met a couple that was grieving the recent death of their infant son.
It was in an interview during the course of the conference that I first met with Brother Tumiri and learned of his loss. As we spoke, he shared that not only was he deeply saddened by the death of his son, but he was also devastated at the thought of never seeing him again. He explained that as relatively new members of the Church, they had saved enough money to attend the temple just one time, prior to the birth of their little boy, where they had been sealed as a couple and had their two daughters sealed to them. He then described how they had been saving money for a return trip to the temple but hadn’t yet been able to take their little boy in order to be sealed to him as well.
Recognizing a possible misunderstanding, I explained that he would indeed see his son again, if he remained faithful, because the sealing ordinance that had bound him to his wife and daughters was also sufficient to bind him to his son, who had been born in the covenant.
Amazed, he asked if this was really true, and when I confirmed that it was, he then asked if I would be willing to speak with his wife, who had been inconsolable during the two weeks since their son’s death.
Sunday afternoon, following the conference, I met with Sister Tumiri and explained this glorious doctrine to her as well. With the pain of her loss still fresh, but now with a glimmer of hope, she tearfully asked, “Will I really be able to hold my little boy in my arms again? Is he really mine forever?” I assured her that as she kept her covenants, the sealing power found in the temple, effective because of the authority of Jesus Christ, would indeed allow her to be with her son again and hold him in her arms.
Sister Tumiri, though heartbroken by the death of her son, left our meeting with tears of gratitude and filled with peace because of the sacred ordinances of the temple, made possible by our Savior and Redeemer.