Gospel Story Finder

One elder who was transferred from another mission wanted to go home. He knew his parents and bishop wanted him to stay and complete his mission. In one of the many interviews we had, he said that five previous elders in his ward had abandoned their missions and had returned home early. I thought what a great disservice the first elder did to the other young men who followed his poor example. I made a solemn vow that this elder would not go home until his mission was completed successfully. Every week for thirteen to fifteen weeks he would write in his letter to the president all the reasons he should be released from his mission. Each week I wrote a letter of response.
After all these weeks I received a letter which appeared the same as the others—until I got to the P.S. He said, “President, you are winning and you know it.” I sat in my office, and tears filled my eyes.
Vince Lombardi said, “The harder you fight for something, the harder it is to surrender.” This elder completed his mission as a great presiding zone leader. He has a great warmth and a great talent to teach; he loves and cares for people; and he is extremely spiritual. He returned home with an honorable release from a very successful mission, married a beautiful girl in the temple, and now they live near the temple where they visit regularly. This elder set a great example for all prospective missionaries from his ward.

Tickets for the October 2000 general conference were in high demand as it marked the dedication of the newly constructed Conference Center in Salt Lake City. Living in Germany at the time, we felt blessed to reserve a few tickets through our local ward and excitedly embarked on our journey as part of a business trip. Upon picking up our tickets at the Conference Center, because of a glitch in the system, I received three tickets to the priesthood session instead of the one I had ordered. Subsequently, I had offered the two extra tickets to friends, but an hour before the start of the priesthood session they informed me that they could not attend. Meanwhile, seemingly endless lines of brethren with standby tickets began forming around Temple Square, each ticket holder hoping to receive one of the rare empty seats left vacant by those with an official ticket. I prayed diligently before leaving my hotel room for the Lord to guide me to someone who might benefit from receiving the two precious tickets. With this prayer in my heart, I stepped outside and began walking around Temple Square. I passed hundreds of brethren who were looking for tickets, but I had not felt a particular prompting to give them away to anyone.
Sometime later, I found myself just outside the Tabernacle on Temple Square. There I noticed a father and son standing dejectedly on the outside steps and felt impressed to speak with them. I learned that they had just realized that they only had standby tickets and that due to the long lines they would not be able to attend the session. Sensing that the Lord had guided me to them I quickly I asked, “How would you like to get two real tickets for the priesthood session?” After first thinking that I was joking, their reaction was priceless as they wouldn’t stop thanking me. After exchanging business cards, I walked off satisfied that the Lord had answered my prayer and thought no more of the encounter.
After returning to Germany, I received a long e-mail from that father. He explained that his youngest son was approaching missionary age, but his testimony and his resolve to serve a mission were waning. The parents were concerned about him and spent many hours in prayer and fasting. A few weeks before general conference, an announcement was made in their ward that a small number of priesthood session tickets would be available for the brethren of their ward. The son unexpectedly turned to the father and said, “Why don’t we go?” The parents were thrilled about their son’s sudden enthusiasm, and after church they picked up two tickets from their bishop. In the weeks leading up to general conference, the parents of the young man spent much time in fasting, prayer, and temple worship, pleading with the Lord that the priesthood session experience would change their son’s heart and set him on the path of missionary service.
After arriving early to Temple Square, they had tried to enter the Conference Center, but were told that all they had were standby tickets and were asked to check for seats in the Tabernacle or to join the long lines of brethren in the standby line. Finding that there were also no more seats available in the Tabernacle, the father wrote that while standing on its outside steps, he prayed silently hoping for a miracle that would validate all the fasting and praying on their son’s behalf. The Lord heard his prayer and moments later he was holding in his hands two real tickets for the priesthood session. He reported that he and his son had a marvelous, spirit-filled experience, and that his son had made the decision to serve a full-time mission.

When she was younger, Céline would go to summer camp, as most French children do. “They would offer a week of training in first aid, and I would always sign up,” she remembers. The classes were usually held at the local Red Cross. “At the end of the course, the monitors would always ask if anyone would like to attend some Red Cross meetings and see a little bit how it works,” Céline continues. “So I went for about two months to see what it was like, and I joined. I started getting more and more training and passing more and more tests.”

Now she’s as qualified in first aid as the sapeurs-pompiers, firefighters the French call when there’s an emergency.

“My desire from the first was to be able to help other people, to bless Heavenly Father’s children, to be prepared in case of an accident,” Céline says. Her Personal Progress program helped her refine that desire. “I set the goal to learn first aid before I turned 19,” she says. She met her goal and found she wanted to share what she was learning.

“I didn’t think of it as a talent until I got into it and saw that it comes quite naturally to me,” she continues. “Before, I had asked myself, ‘What can I do to help others?’ For me, first aid is a way of doing that.”

Not only does she help by being trained herself; she is also training others. She has taught first aid at Mutual activities, youth conferences, and girls’ camps. She also volunteers at a small Red Cross center in the basement of a local housing complex. There she teaches cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR), answers the phone, and attends to cuts and bruises of neighborhood children. They come to her as much for a hug as for a bandage.

“I’m in my final year of high school,” Céline says. “And first aid is helpful there, too. Even in school, people fall down, break a bone, or have some kind of sickness. Someone might even have epilepsy and go into a seizure. A lot of people don’t know how to react. But I know what to do. I’ve developed my skills for exactly that reason.”

Through the Red Cross, Céline is also deeply involved in feeding and caring for the homeless. “Government agencies, shelters, churches, and charities often refer people to the Red Cross,” Céline explains. “People who drink too much or have other problems don’t nourish themselves well, and so they often become weak, especially during cold weather. We dress them, nurse them, try to give them another chance.”

That may sound ambitious, but for Céline helping others is more than a desire—it’s a way of life. “They are Heavenly Father’s children,” she says. “That means they’re our brothers and sisters. If we can make an effort to get them back on their feet, we ought to.”

Of course, if there were a major natural disaster—a flood or an earthquake, for example—the Red Cross would be there, too. “Not long ago in Paris, terrorist bombs were exploding,” Céline remembers. “The Red Cross was there, helping take care of those with minor injuries and getting others ready to go to the hospital.”

Doesn’t all that volunteering take a lot of time? “I suppose it does,” Céline says matter-of-factly. She’s busy with Church activities, school assignments, quizzes, finding time for friends—the usual stuff.

“But I would prefer to give up a little of my own time rather than see someone else suffer,” she says. “Besides, it helps me feel useful. I know I’m good for something, that I serve a purpose.”

That’s the real reason why nearly everyone says bonjour when Céline walks down the street. She isn’t a Pied Piper; she’s a people person. She helps children of all ages overcome the skinned knees of life. She’s popular because she cares, because people know of her good works, and because, since all are children of God, she loves everyone. That love, quite clearly, flows back to her.

God expresses his love for us by providing the guidance we need to progress and reach our potential. Perhaps a simple story will illustrate this point. Recently, a young man purchased a used computer but could not get it to work properly. Soon he became discouraged. His temper grew short and he threatened the inanimate object with painful destruction unless its performance improved. A wise father intervened and took his son to a local vendor, where they obtained an instruction manual. After all, who would know more about a complex computer than the person or company that created it? Who would know most about its capacity and potential? Who would better know the safeguards required to avoid damaging or ruining this fine instrument? Soon the boy enjoyed the full potential of his computer by working within the guidelines given in the instruction book provided by its creator.

When we moved to Florida twelve years ago, our bishop was President of a multi-billion dollar company that was a major division of a larger conglomerate. He had spent twenty-nine years, almost his entire career, progressing through this organization to the top.

He had been a bishop and stake president, and was again serving as bishop. Having achieved great financial success, he and his wife lived, and still live in a beautiful home with every comfort imaginable. They were loved and respected by all with whom they came in contact.

Then the roof fell in, so to speak. The CEO and senior executives of the parent conglomerate were indicted for fraud and convicted in a major corporate scandal. A new board brought in a new CEO who replaced all of the subsidiary executives, including our bishop. Through no fault of his own, his admired career suddenly ended in a cloud of ignominy.

At first, he seemed a bit lost, like a great warhorse suddenly taken out of the battle. In conversations with him, you could detect some bewilderment and disappointment.

Then he and his wife turned their enormous talents to service. They went to Romania as service missionaries, serving two years in the most humble circumstances imaginable. They lived without conveniences, often went without electricity or heat, and shared the primitive conditions of the people they served.

A year after returning home they again answered the call, this time to Nigeria. The conditions they lived in there made Romania look like a first world country but, as their emails to us revealed, their thoughts were only on the people. They labored to share the gospel while elevating the lives of the native people through water purification and other infrastructure projects.

A year into their mission, he was called to be President of the Enugu Nigeria Mission. When they returned home three years later, they were transformed.

Before they left they were the role models we all wanted to emulate. Yet, when they returned there was a halo around them that eclipsed even that which we admired before. Their love for the Savior and their willingness to give unstintingly of their time and service to anyone at any time is a breathtaking example that continually motivates everyone around them.

Though they could be enjoying a leisurely retirement, their time and resources are devoted to bringing forth God’s kingdom. They seem to have achieved the final step Peter describes, charity, the pure love of Christ.

When President Spencer W. Kimball was 15 years old, he attended stake conference and heard a speaker ask everyone who had read the entire Bible to raise their hands. I heard President Kimball say, “I cared not what others were thinking. I knew that I had not read it and I was filled with shame.” After the meeting was over, he ran home as fast as he could, grabbed the Bible off the shelf, and climbed the stairs to the attic. His brothers teased him, saying, “Why try? You’ll never finish it.” But he did. Almost a year later he finished reading the Bible. The integrity he had as a 15-year-old boy was one of the things that made him a great prophet of God.

I remember when I was serving as a branch president and was working on our annual tithing report. It was a beautiful winter day, and my wife was waiting to go for a walk with me. I was used to doing finances as a government officer, so this was no big task for me. But every time I tried to balance the figures, they did not add up right. I kept trying and trying, but nothing worked, and I was getting frustrated. I asked Heavenly Father to help.
After I got up from my knees, I couldn’t see that anything had changed. But I felt prompted to review a specific portion of the donation receipt file again. In those days the receipts were glued together in pads, and this time I discovered that two receipts had stuck together and looked like one receipt. The problem was solved.

Illustration by Bryan Beach
I glanced out the car window. The sign was still there. Right outside our neighborhood, there was a store with a giant picture of someone without many clothes on. I didn’t want to see it.
Mom looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Just don’t look at it, Gary.”
I turned my head. “I try not to, but it’s hard when we have to drive by it almost every day.”
“I know,” Mom said. “We can’t choose what pictures other people put up, but we can choose not to look at them.”
“I wish it wasn’t there at all.”
“Me too.”
I didn’t like seeing bad pictures in my town. To make things worse, there was another bad picture in a store window right by our church building! I hated seeing that right before going into church. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I also didn’t like thinking about my three younger brothers seeing things like that.
Maybe there was something I could do about it.
“Hey, Mom, do you think if I wrote them a letter they would take it down?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “But I think it’s a great idea to try.”
I nodded. “Will you help me look up that store’s address when we get home?”
“Of course.”
That night, I sat down at the kitchen table with a notebook. My plan was to write two letters, one to each of the stores that had the bad pictures in their windows.
I stared at the blank paper. What could I say? For a minute, I thought about one of my favorite scripture stories, David and Goliath. I felt like David. I was just a kid. Would they even listen to me?
But David had something going for him that Goliath didn’t. He had help from Heavenly Father! That’s what I needed. I bowed my head and said a prayer to know what to write.
Then I started writing.
I tried to be polite and respectful. I wanted to make sure they knew how I felt every time I saw those pictures. I told them how much I didn’t want my little brothers to see them either. I said that I wished they could find something else to put in their window. When I finished writing the letters, I had a good feeling inside.
“What do you think, Dad?” I asked. Dad read through my letters and nodded.
“These are great! I wouldn’t change a thing.”
So I put them in envelopes and dropped them in the mailbox.
“I guess now we wait,” I said. My family and I prayed that Heavenly Father would take things from there. We trusted that if it was His will, something would happen.
For a while, nothing happened. Then one day, Mom and Dad said they had something to show us. We all piled into the car and drove to the first store. The picture was gone!
“You were so brave to write those letters, and look what happened!” Mom said.
“They took it down!” I shouted.
I said another prayer right then in the car, thanking Heavenly Father for His help. And then we got even more good news.
When we drove to church that Sunday, we saw that the other store had taken their bad picture down too. I couldn’t believe it. I was so grateful Heavenly Father had answered our prayers. When we do our best to keep our minds pure, God will help us. ?
Thanks to Gary P. for your great example!And for sharing your story!

Talena was unhappy. It was the first day of school, but not for her. Talena was too little to go to school. Mother and her sister Laresa were hurrying around the house getting everything ready for this important day.
“Where is my other new shoe?” Laresa called. “I can’t find my writing book either.”
“Look in your drawer,” Mother suggested.
Never had Talena seen so much excitement, except maybe on Christmas morning.
“Why can’t I go to school too?” Talena asked.
“Next year you’ll be five and then you can go, honey,” Mother answered as she hurried down the hall with Laresa’s shoe.
“But I want to go today!” Talena insisted. However, everyone was too busy to listen to her.
Talena sat down and frowned. It’ll be awful to stay home without Laresa. There won’t be anyone to play with, she thought sadly as Mother came back down the hall.
“I wish I were five years old like Laresa, then I could go to school today,” Talena said.
“That’s right,” Mother said as she hurried past Talena.
Laresa was finally ready to go.
“Good-bye, Talena,” she called. “We’ll play together after school and I’ll tell you everything that happens to me today.”
“Good-bye!” Talena shouted after her sister.
“Be a very, very good girl,” Mother called to Laresa.
As soon as her older sister had gone, Talena ran to their bedroom. She took one of Laresa’s dresses out of the closet and put it on. Then she put on her play high heel shoes and carefully measured herself on the growth chart. It measured just right! She was as tall as Laresa. Hurriedly she slipped on her sweater and got her writing notebook out of the drawer.
“Mother,” Talena called. “I’m five now. Can I go to school?”
Mother looked at Talena with an understanding smile. “But you won’t really be five years old until July,” Mother said, giving her a hug.
“But I’m as tall as Laresa now and her dress almost fits me. I’m five now!”
Mother sat down beside Talena. “Years aren’t measured by how tall you are or by how big your dress is,” she said.
“They aren’t?” Talena began to frown again.
“No, years are measured by months. The only way you can become five is to wait until all the months have passed and July is here again. Then on your birthday you will be five years old.”
“Can’t I try to be five now?” Talena asked hopefully.
“No. All you can do is wait until July,” Mother said. “But I’m glad you’re still home with me.”
Talena walked back to the bedroom. She slowly hung up Laresa’s dress and began to pick up her toys. As she was working she had an idea. Faster and faster she worked until the room was all clean. She sat her dolls on her bed and put on her very best dress-up hat. Then she put on Mother’s old pink dress and got her dress-up purse.
“Now,” Talena said to her dolls, “I’m the teacher and you had better be very, very good children. It’s time for school to start.”

When l was a youngster, my parents moved our family into a tough city-edge neighborhood. It was during the dark days of World War II, and with little housing available, we took what we could get near my father’s defense effort job. We had lived in the country among friendly folks, and now among strangers, I didn’t know what to expect on my first day at school.
My worst fears were realized. Many of the students and teachers were strangers in the transient conditions of the war. Not only did disagreement abound, but physical fighting broke out among my 12-year-old peers. There seemed to be no particular issues involved, just an effort by everyone to determine who was the “toughest.”
Later that year, in an effort to curb this unwanted practice in which so many young people were getting hurt, several faculty members managed to gain some control over it by putting boxing gloves on the combatants. Tournaments were held during lunch hour, and the nice thing was that a person could choose to compete or watch, as he preferred. I wanted no particular part in it. I already felt sufficiently challenged physically by the time school began just in walking three miles one way to class. Much energy was spent in work at home and getting up early to run through orchards and leap canals just to reach school.
However, there were obviously many students with pent-up energies who participated in these noon-hour boxing matches. Besides, I was content to believe that some of these kids who claimed to be “fourth toughest” or “second toughest,” or whatever, really were what they bragged to be. I was also a little dismayed, however, that they put so much ego—at times a little oppressive and unbearable for the others—into being physically tough. And if no one challenged them, under the arrangement, they could continue to claim whatever title they wished without even tying on the boxing gloves.
I was therefore somewhat pleased, but mostly aghast one day when a newfound friend of mine, a slightly built young man by the name of Terrance, told me he was going to challenge Phillip. Phillip had declared himself “Number Four.”
“Don’t do it!” I tried to persuade him. “Phillip will kill you!”
“We’ll see about that,” Terrance answered gamely. “How do we know unless I meet him in the ring?” Then, quietly, Terrance continued: “I think Phillip is talking too much about it. Frankly, I think he’s bluffing.”
I watched the first round with my hands over my eyes. But the round was no sooner over than Phillip stated he did not want to continue. That made Terrance Number Four. Suddenly, it was like in the cowboy movies. When they saw how easily he had wrested the title from Phillip, everyone wanted to challenge Terrance. And if Terrance didn’t want to “lose face” he had to participate.
As we were walking the three miles up the long a hill toward our homes in the government housings project, past monotonous rows of look-alike houses, Terrance confided something to me. “I know that fighting doesn’t really resolve anything. And personally, I never did like to fight. Where did it get either Phillip or me? I just wanted to humble him, but now I wonder if he’s better off than me. I don’t know. Maybe I can defeat Number One, but I know that wouldn’t prove anything, would it? I just wish there were some way out of this.”
Yet, Terrance acknowledged that he probably had already gone too far and there was no way out, except to finish what he had started. He trudged into his house, recognizable by the number over the door, and parted with: “Well, no use beating around the bush. Tomorrow, I’ll skip Number Two and Three and go right to Tracy, Number One.”
The next day word got around quickly that freckle-faced little Terrance was going to do battle with the much larger and stone-faced Tracy. Everyone ate lunch quickly and settled down to watch the proceedings. The boxing ring was in the basement of the school next to the boiler room. It was fine for a few dozen spectators, but on that particular day hundreds of kids packed into the concrete window abutments and stood on chairs to peer over heating pipes. I got there early and had a pretty good seat next to the custodian’s closet.
The two sparred for several rounds without either gaining much advantage. In the fifth round, several of the crowd said they thought that it should be over fairly soon, that Tracy was “just beginning to warm up.” However, as I looked at both of their faces, they appeared equally tired. When the round was over, Tracy walked over to Terrance. I could barely hear what Tracy was saying: “Why don’t we just declare it a truce and call ourselves co-champions? I’m not sure going on any further would prove either one of us better than the other.”
Terrance agreed. They put their arms around each other and the crowd cheered both as winners.
That by no means ended the daily boxing tournaments. But somehow, they were never the same after that. Deciding who was toughest just didn’t matter as much anymore. The two toughest kids in school had decided it wasn’t important.

Another time, my uncle, who was only three years older than I was, put me in a baby carriage and took me for a walk around the house. In front of the house was a road, and behind the road was an irrigation canal. When he took me across the road, the carriage slid into the canal. It was empty at that time, but my uncle couldn’t get us out. My mother felt concern for me and began to call me. Then she looked for me in the house but couldn’t find me. She felt prompted to look on the road and in the canal. She found us and got us out of the canal just before the water started to come through the canal. Had she not listened to the Spirit, my uncle and I would have drowned.

One day while I was riding in the car with Dad, a song that was not good came on the radio. It was about gambling. I remembered that one of My Gospel Standards says: I will only listen to music that is pleasing to Heavenly Father. I asked my dad to change the station. I had a good feeling after that. I know we’re supposed to choose the right and do good things and not do the bad things that Satan wants us to do. I’m glad to have My Gospel Standards because they help me choose the right.

Growing up in the Church, I’d always just assumed that God existed and loved me. It wasn’t until high school that I felt the need to discover for myself if everything I’d been taught was true.
I went to a Church-sponsored youth camp one summer where faithful peers spoke of receiving answers to their prayers by feeling the Holy Ghost. I thought the Holy Ghost had never communicated with me because I’d never felt “my heart burn within my chest” as many of the other youth had described. At the camp, one of the counselors said that “if you ask God if He loves you, then He will answer.” Excited at the prospect of definite revelation, I knelt that night and asked God if He loves me. I felt nothing. I was angry. I begged for an answer. I’d never felt so very alone. I knew that God loves me—why wouldn’t He let me feel it?
I spent the next year coming to terms with this experience. Over time, I realized that the Holy Ghost had spoken to me, just not in the way I’d expected. It was not through intense feelings but through a calm and pure knowledge of truth in my heart and mind. By the time I went back to camp the following summer, I’d realized I didn’t need an intense confirming feeling to know that God loves me, because the Spirit spoke to me a different way.
And then the strangest thing happened: I got that feeling. One night while writing in my journal, I heard a voice in my head say, “I love you.” It was a soft whisper, and I knew it was of divine origin. I knelt and tearfully thanked God and felt surrounded by His love. It often seems too bold to say, but I felt like I was wrapped in the arms of God that night.
Though I felt a lot of emotions during this experience, I also learned that the Holy Ghost speaks to people in different ways. To this day, the Spirit gives me a pure knowledge of the truth. I know that God lives and loves us more than we can comprehend. He may not give us everything we want, but when we’re ready, worthy, and faithful, He will answer our earnest and fervent prayers in the way and time He knows is best.

The Adirondack region of central upstate New York is a land of rolling hills with lakes tucked in their pockets. In the winter, blizzards smother highways and countryside, then whisk on, leaving a skier’s paradise behind.
But by mid-January of the winter of 1980, the blizzards had still not come. What little snow had fallen stretched like a crust of dried frosting on the ground, shrinking from the sun to the shadows of the quiet, gray trees. Clouds hovered overhead but never released the hoped-for relief.
Resort operators were frantic. Skiers were disappointed. At Lake Placid, Winter Olympic stars worried about competing on runs with man-made snow. An international television audience lamented the lack of powder on the slopes.
For the young people of the Syracuse New York Stake, however, it was a time of anticipation and excitement. Each year the youth in the stake plan a Winter Weekend, and snow or no snow, they decided to hold their activity. While the Lake Placid ground crews were churning out artificial snow, youth chairmen and committees were busy churning out ideas for alternative activities in case the usual downhill skiing, snow-shoeing, and snow sculpturing had to be scrapped. They knew they were headed for the Star Lake Campus of the University of New York, and that was enough for starters. They’d make their own fun when they got there!
“On the night we arrived, it was raining like crazy,” Steve Beenfield, a 17-year-old priest in the Syracuse Second Ward, said. “But we knew there would be something fun to do anyway.” As everyone registered, chess and checkers tournaments and backgammon, Parcheesi, and other games kept those waiting occupied.
“It was cold outside, but indoors the games were nice, because we got to sit and talk and know people and find out why they believe in the Church and that they do believe in it,” said Mary Jane Morgan, a 15-year-old nonmember who accompanied her friend Sherry Jenkins of the Oneida Branch.
A letter-writing campaign was initiated, too, to encourage each participant to send a note of appreciation to his or her parents. Stationery and stamps were furnished by the youth leaders. “The letter-writing was planned as a way to let some of the kids open up communication with their parents,” said Shelley Moran, 17, chairman of the youth committee that planned the entire outing. “In fact, the whole theme of the talks and firesides seemed to be communication—how to get along with friends, parents, and Church members, how to share feelings with those you’re close to.”
The rain kept pouring. But inside the main lodge it was warm and dry and time for a dance. Chairs and tables were moved to the side of the hall, and soon the beat and the melodies chased away any blues brought on by lack of snow. Even the chaperones joined in the fun, twirling and swirling over the hardwood.
Committee members realized that their peers probably wouldn’t be eager to go straight to bed, so they planned a post-dance fireside to create a reflective mood. Bishop Parry A. Rasmusson of the Syracuse First Ward spoke about peer pressure, and Sister Gail Skinner, stake Laurel adviser, talked about maintaining quality in dating relationships. “The bishop gave some hints about avoiding negative peer pressure that I think will help me in a situation with one of my friends,” Elizabeth Chamberlain, a 16-year-old member of his ward, said.
As the young ladies filed off to the dormitory at the rear of the lodge and the young men rushed through the rain to various cabins where they were housed, the topics of the firesides were discussed over and over. Once the young people were in their bunks, only a pillow fight or two disturbed the silence until the weary young Saints succumbed to sleep.
While they were sleeping, a transformation took place outside. For the first time in weeks, flakes floated from the clouds to the hard-packed surface on the ground. It wasn’t a major storm, just enough of a flurry to build some fluff at foot level. But for the snow-starved New Yorkers, it was ample cause for celebration. When they awoke the next morning and saw powder, they could hardly rush through breakfast fast enough to get outside.
“We couldn’t believe it had really snowed,” said Susan Richards, 17, of the Syracuse First Ward. “But it sure was good to see it.”
Unfortunately, the snow wasn’t deep enough for downhill skiing or for snow sculpturing. Snowshoeing plans were abandoned; so were plans for classes about building snow structures. But every pair of cross-country skis furnished by the camp was used sometime during the day. One of the adult supervisors organized an orienteering class that sent compass watchers wandering in search of markers all through the area. Downhill sliding on toboggans, coats, sacks, plastic, and parkas marked a path down a nearby slope. And when someone found a soccer ball in a car trunk, most of the male population of the conference hurried to a local field for a marathon football match. (So what if the ball was round?)
And of course there were snowball fights. Not just run-of-the-mill skirmishes, but full-fledged attacks and counter-attacks. There was just one difficulty—the snow was too dry to pack. So instead of flinging iceballs at each other, the snowballers threw white puffs that inflicted no damage more severe than a wet face or fogged glasses.
Despite fierce headwinds, many of the conference-goers listed the skiing as their favorite activity. One group ventured out on the hard, thick Star Lake ice, thinking skiing would be simple on the level, slippery surface. Going one way, the wind almost pushed them along. Going the other, its force nearly lifted them off the ice. No matter which direction they went, a powder of ice crystals whipped through the air.
“I’m so skinny I was afraid I’d blow away,” said Karen Kerns, 14, an investigator attending the Fulton Ward. “I leaned on my poles to hold myself up and let the wind move me across the lake.”
But for Mike Dippold, a 17-year-old in the Syracuse First Ward, the football game was the highlight of the outdoor sports. “I’ve never seen such sportsmanship!” Mike said. “It was a hard-fought game, but no one got mad.”
Fred Pappa, 15, of the Fulton Ward, agreed. “I’ve been playing football for five years, and I’ve never been in a game where everyone was courteous like they were out there today. One of the counselors said it was the best game for sportsmanship he’d ever seen.”
Fred said he felt the same attitude extended to other activities of the weekend. “The camp directors always like our group,” he continued. “We take an interest in them and ask questions about what’s going on. And they’re impressed by our language and the way we act. We don’t mess everything up; we take good care of things. We’ve been coming to Star Lake for years, and the only thing ever damaged was a pillow.”
The camp director remains impressed by the young Mormons. He and his wife spent more than an hour discussing the Church with adult leaders. A Book of Mormon received during earlier visits with full-time missionaries was opened again and passages reread. During testimony meetings, he and his wife listened attentively to the sincere emotions of their teenage friends.
In between all of the outdoor sport activities, there were hot chocolate breaks and lunches, then finally dinner, and the second night featured another dance, followed by an adventure movie about John Wesley Powell’s exploration of the Colorado River.
Before the movie began, some of the youths shared their feelings about the conference, about being young Latter-day Saints in New York, about missionary work, and about families.
“It’s good to see a big group of Mormons like this and know you’re not the only one,” Elizabeth said. “At my high school there are only five of us. We hang around together, and the other kids know we’re LDS. It’s nice to have them keep an eye on me, and I keep an eye on them. There are an awful lot of temptations, so I need them. My main friends are in the Church. Our lockers are in the same area; we get together before we go home and talk things over. But here at the conference there were a lot of us. It was good to see so many others who are trying to live the standards of the Church.”
Shelley talked about the difficulties she faces being a cheerleader in her high school, as well as being one of only three young people in her ward. “It’s hard to stay involved in planning Church activities when there’s so much going on at school, too. But the Church activities are important. I rely on the other committee members in the stake to do their jobs, and they count on me to do the same.
“My friends used to tease me about being a Church member,” she continued. “But they don’t bother me anymore.” She also said that anyone she dates meets her parents first, and that she goes on a lot of group dates.
Karen said she thought writing to her parents and sharing her experiences at the conference with them was a good idea. They aren’t members of the Church, and she wanted to share some of her enjoyment with them. She was first introduced to the Church by her next-door neighbors, who invited her to a home evening, then to worship services. “Now I go to church every Sunday, even though I’m not a member yet,” she said. “I do my seminary, too. Having friends who are members has given me a place to turn for support.”
Tim Halstead, 14, of the Fulton Ward, said he had learned something by obeying the camp regulations. “If you live a rule for a day or so,” he said, “it gets easier. Once you’re used to it, it’s not so hard to do.”
Dan Barker, 14, of the Watertown Ward, said he felt closer to the others at the conference because “we had a chance to get to know each other better.”
Jackie Biggs, 17, from the Syracuse First Ward, said the discussions at the conference had helped her understand ways in which she could improve her relationship with her parents. “Sometimes it seems like lessons don’t apply, but this one did. Sometimes I forget my parents are human, too.”
Jackie’s sentiments reflected feelings a lot of others shared, both during a testimony meeting and during an early morning seminary session.
“After the seminary lesson on parent-child relationships, my mother (who, as stake Young Women president, was at the conference) told me that she loved me,” Sherry said. “My back was to her and I didn’t hear her for sure. I thought maybe I was just wishing. Then turned around and saw her.”
Mike said his brother recently left for college and his sister got married, and he didn’t realize until they were both gone how much his parents meant to him. “I’ll try to learn from them from now on instead of just brushing it off,” he said.
President Ronald L. Scholl, second counselor in the stake presidency, was so impressed by the letter-writing idea that he promised he would write home to his mother. Other adults promised to do the same thing and to express their feelings to their children as well.
Susan said that for her the best part of the conference was the testimony meeting. “Everybody grows a little closer to the Savior during a testimony meeting. And your testimony grows stronger each time you bear it,” she said.
Margo White, 15, of the Tully Branch, said she enjoyed holding seminary as a stake group. “There are only four of us in the branch seminary,” she said. “We usually have our class on Sunday.”
Jackie was a fan of the scripture chase contest. “It helps me to learn scriptures that I might not otherwise learn. I need a little bit of encouragement, and scripture chase provides it.”
Star Lake 1980 wasn’t the usual Winter Weekend for the New York Syracuse Stake. Drifts weren’t deep enough to swallow cars whole. But it seemed fairly evident to everyone there that there was the same amount, if not more, of the spirit of fellowship and learning that has made the annual affair a lasting memory in the minds of the youth of the central upstate area of New York.
The banner the non-Mormon camp director taped to the front of the lodge welcoming the Latter-day Saints to the conference seemed to indicate he enjoys having them here. And a note from an anonymous teenager, scribbled in chalk on a blackboard, let the director know that the Mormons felt the same way and that they would be back next year.
“‘Bye Star Lake,” it said. “You were great! From the LDS youth.’”

I remember feeling uncomfortable as I learned in college about the lives of great artists. It seemed like the truly memorable and remarkable ones had become great artists by neglecting their family and sacrificing their sanity. Great artists painted on Christmas morning while their kids opened presents. One was married six times. Another cut off his ear and sent it to his loved ones. And another even killed someone! I started to wonder if becoming a great artist while also being a great wife and mother (all while keeping my sanity!) was even possible.
My professors taught that if we really wanted to become great, we would have to make sacrifices for it. We would have to work harder than anyone else. We would have to put art first in our lives. My mind would often question, “But if an artist kept the commandments, put first things first, and had the Spirit of the Lord to direct their work, couldn’t they become just as great and possibly even greater?” This question stayed with me throughout my studies.
By the time my husband and I graduated, we had been married for a year. Elder Russell M. Nelson (at the time, he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles) came to speak at our graduation. A luncheon followed, and only 16 students were invited to attend. Oddly enough, both my husband I were selected to be there. When the discussion was opened for questions and answers. I raised my hand, looked Elder Nelson in the eye, and expressed my concerns about being both an artist and a mother. I had worked so hard to build my talents in school, and I wanted to continue to work hard and improve, but I also knew that motherhood took precedence. Was there a way to do both? Elder Nelson’s eyes sparkled as he replied, “Absolutely!” He encouraged me to improve upon my talents and to pray to Heavenly Father for help in knowing how I could do both and that with Him, I would be able to do things I once thought impossible. I took that advice to heart.
My husband and I now have four kids. We’ve learned the dance and the juggle of parenthood. In the beginning, I began most days at 4:00 a.m. to get some painting in before my kids woke up. I tried to paint six days a week, even if some days only allowed 30 minutes. I started each painting session with prayer, knowing I wasn’t much without the Lord’s help. I prayed not only to be enabled in my art but also to know what was most important that day and committed to putting His purposes first. Progress wasn’t fast, but it was steady.
Fast forward 12 years from my graduation day. I was having a moment of discouragement. Life seemed too full. Motherhood had been more challenging than I had anticipated. I sat at my easel crying, wondering if I would ever really be able to become the great artist I had dreamed of being. I felt impressed to pull my old journal off the shelf, and I turned to my entry on April 30, 2006, the day after my graduation. I had totally forgotten my remarkable experience with President Nelson! Somehow the whirlwind of life had almost eroded it from my memory. There before me were words from the current prophet, “Absolutely!” The tears turned to ones of gratitude as I looked back at all I had been able to accomplish since that time, and I also looked forward with hope.
A few months later, I got a call from one of the Ensign magazine’s designers, asking if they could use one of my paintings on the inside cover of the November 2018 general conference issue. I was floored! Growing up, the first thing I had always done when getting the Church magazines was to peruse them for paintings. Now one of my pieces would be in there! Then, when I was told that they wanted to pair my painting with words from President Nelson, I could see the hand of God encouraging me forward.
I still have a long way to go on my artistic journey, but I’m so thankful for President Nelson’s hope in the Lord and in us. I’m thankful for his optimism and his confidence. I know that as we exercise faith in the Lord we will be able to do great things, even things we once thought impossible. “For with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37).

When I was 13 years old and growing up in Orem, Utah, USA, my great-uncle Ash called and said he had a summer job for me. I gladly took it, since it wasn’t easy for a 13-year-old to get a job. On my first day, Uncle Ash brought me to a lot he owned where a grocery store was being built. Construction workers had already dug a huge hole on the land where they would put the building’s foundation. At one end of the lot they had piled up a huge mountain of dirt they had excavated for the foundation. It was so big that the neighborhood kids had turned it into a bike-riding hill, complete with jumps and paths.
Uncle Ash was a kind, older man about the age of my grandfather. He and his wife had never had children of their own. When I met Uncle Ash at the lot, he handed me an old wooden-handled shovel and a scuffed-up black wheelbarrow and told me that my job was to move the mountain of dirt to the back end of the lot, about 75 yards (69 meters) away.
As I look back on the experience now, I am sure Uncle Ash could have moved the dirt much faster and more efficiently with a backhoe, but he offered to pay me $1.40 an hour, which was good pay back then—so I took the job and went to work.
I toiled away at that mountain of dirt for weeks, one wheelbarrow load at a time. I soon settled into a pattern: Every day, I got to the lot early in the morning, while it was still cool, filled the wheelbarrow one shovelful at a time, pushed it across the field and dumped it in the location Uncle Ash had pointed to, then returned to do it again. I pushed that wheelbarrow back and forth so many times I eventually wore a smooth path between the large mountain of dirt and the little mound I was creating.
I worked from four to six hours a day, every day, pushing the wheelbarrow back and forth, back and forth, until I thought I would never see the end of it. It seemed to me that the big mountain was not getting any smaller, no matter how hard or long I toiled.
Every now and then, Uncle Ash stopped by the lot to check on my progress. I really respected him. He was one of those older men who seem a little bit gruff but are really soft-hearted on the inside. Looking back, I can see that Uncle Ash was more interested in molding my character than in moving his dirt. He had entrusted me with this job, and I was determined to complete it even if it took me the whole summer.
After a few weeks, I began to feel like I would never be able to complete the task. The original mountain of dirt didn’t seem to be getting any smaller, and I wondered if all my work and effort was making any difference at all, or if I was just wasting my summer.
Then one day, something very simple happened that changed my entire outlook. As I pushed a full wheelbarrow up my pile to dump it, I noticed I had to push the wheelbarrow up higher and higher to reach the top. Then, as I was pushing the empty wheelbarrow back to fill it again, for some reason I stopped midway between the two piles of dirt. I stood and looked at the mountain of dirt I was supposed to move. It hadn’t really changed. But, when I turned around and looked at the mound I was creating, I saw that it had become huge! I was making a mountain of my own.
Suddenly, my perspective changed. The piles were the same size they had been a few minutes before, but my new perspective allowed me to see that my efforts were amounting to something; they were not in vain. It gave me a sense of accomplishment and pride in what I was doing, though I still had a long way to go. As I bent and lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow to return to work, my attitude had changed. I was happier. I felt more worthwhile, more confident in myself.
Uncle Ash also owned a carwash. After I finished moving the mountain of dirt that summer, he hired me to work at his carwash a few days a week after school. He told me later that he gave me that job to move the dirt as a way of determining whether he wanted to hire me for other jobs. I realized that the whole point of the mountain-moving job wasn’t just hauling dirt from one place to another—it was a way for me to be tested and prove I was a diligent, hard-working young man.

All Latter-day Saint pioneer women in Arizona were frontierswomen. Many were also trained midwives. LDS women believed that their medical needs should be looked after by women doctors rather than by men, and for this reason the Mormon communities of the West boasted the largest number of women doctors and midwives in the nation. It was common for the Relief Societies to band together to send some of their sisters East to become doctors. Upon their return, these sisters not only practiced medicine but conducted winter classes, sponsored again by the Relief Societies, where other women underwent training in the crafts of nursing and midwifery. One woman doctor was Sarah Indaetta Young Vance.8

After years of frontier life and several children, Sarah, at thirty-four, decided to fulfill her “dearest childhood ambition” and study in Salt Lake to become a doctor like her father. She enrolled in a class of obstetrics under Dr. Ellis R. Shipp. John took charge of the four older boys in Arizona, while Sarah kept her three youngest sons in a rented room across the hall from Dr. Shipp. The oldest boy, age seven, sold newspapers. After six months, she completed the course in obstetrics, was given a blessing by Elder Abraham H. Cannon, member of the Council of the Twelve and advisor to the school, and returned to Arizona with her boys. Shortly after her return to Arizona, she gave birth to twin girls. One of her daughters was kicked by a horse, another child nearly drowned, but somehow they survived. Two more girls were born, and when she was forty-three, Sarah gave birth to her last child, a healthy twelve-pounder.

Sarah continued her work as midwife for forty-five years until her death in 1940. During this time she delivered 1,500 babies and never lost a child or mother. Upon the urging of her patients and friends, she took other cases as well—typhoid fever, stomach trouble, and diphtheria. She wrote that she never lost a case of this type either.

With almost any conversion story, I believe the process begins with members of the Church attempting to share what they believe. I was fortunate enough to have such a member do exactly that for me when I was a sophomore in high school. Her name was Cami, and she often invited me to Mutual activities and to church. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready to accept the gospel at that point in my life, so I kindly turned her down. However, her efforts were not in vain.
During my high school years, I played football and had a good friend named Ryan. I frequently offered him rides home from practice. Early one morning in February of 2003, my senior year, I was at school getting help from my math teacher. A girl walked in the door and announced the death of my friend Ryan. I was astonished and almost didn’t believe the words I had just heard. A good friend of mine, whom I had just talked to a week before, was now dead.
I made the decision to miss school the next week and attend the funeral services. Upon arriving, I noticed that the building was very beautiful and bore the logo of the church to which it belonged—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The moment I walked in the door, I felt something different: a sense of peace, joy, and happiness—feelings that are not typically experienced at a funeral. As the services progressed, I noticed a new vocabulary, one that I had never before heard. The words gospel and Atonement entered into my mind for the first time. It was something new and unheard-of but, oddly enough, familiar. I listened attentively as Ryan’s mom spoke, and tears came to my eyes. Something was telling me that this “plan of salvation,” which she was speaking about, was true. I felt that the people in this chapel had something in their lives that I did not, and for some reason, I felt a desire to get it.
Now, I was not completely oblivious to Mormons. I grew up in Mesa, Arizona, where members of the Church come in great abundance. I knew two things for sure: first, many of my friends were members of the Church, and second, Church members believed in something called the Book of Mormon. I had a newfound desire to get my hands on this book and to find out what this religion was all about.
In March of 2003, one of my good friends, Bret, invited me to help with his Eagle Scout project. After school the next day we drove in his truck with another friend of ours, Camden, to where the project would be. Inspired by the Spirit, Bret directed Camden to a Book of Mormon situated in a holder in the passenger-side door. He told him to open to a verse he had recently read in the Book of Alma. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I saw the book I wanted so very badly. However, I was too scared to say anything right then. Upon returning that evening, I worked up the confidence to ask Bret for the book. He happily gave it to me and told me to read it. That night I read nine chapters. From the moment I picked up the book, I fell in love with its message.
The next evening, I was sitting in Bret’s living room with his family and two young men dressed in dark suits, both of whom were named “Elder.” I learned these were missionaries for Bret’s church. We watched Finding Faith in Christ. I will admit that I cried during the movie and loved every bit of the lesson. I decided to continue investigating and to come to church. I eventually finished the lessons and accepted everything the elders taught me about being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
One night as I was kneeling in prayer after reading a portion of the Book of Mormon, I specifically asked if what I was learning was true. Overwhelming feelings of peace and joy came into my heart. I was feeling the Spirit, and it was answering my prayers. After that time, I knew without a doubt that the Book of Mormon was true. I felt it in my heart and had the knowledge given to me in my mind.
With this new knowledge, I knew what my next step would be. I was baptized on May 3, 2003. The following day, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will always remember my baptism, the Spirit I felt, and the covenants I made with my Heavenly Father.
My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.
During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.
I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

Elder Meurs told the story of his parents, who lived in the area, joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1958.
Fred and Lois Meurs, strong Christians from different faiths were actively searching for someone to answer their gospel questions. After carefully studying the New Testament, they began to search for a church that had teachings that were consistent with Jesus’s teachings.
They had questions about the purpose of life, priesthood authority, what happens when we die, ordinances like baptism, and the role of prophets and apostles. They had spoken to the religious leaders of the community, but no one could give them the answers they were searching for. They began to earnestly pray for someone to answer their questions.
That same week, two full-time missionaries, Elder Jones and Elder Erikson, knocked on their door and said they had a message about Jesus Christ to share with them. Fred and Lois asked them all their questions, and the missionaries answered every one. Three weeks later the Meurs were baptised and confirmed. Some other families joined soon after, and the first Warrnambool Branch was formed.

Many centuries ago, there was a girl in China who was extremely clever, brave, and agile—but there was no way of knowing this from her beginnings.
As a baby, she was found in a basket in King Ta Lang’s garden in Shen Su.
For years, King Ta Lang’s palace had been childless. Finally a hoped-for son was born, and then soon afterward the baby girl was found in the royal gardens. Who was she? Where had she come from? Who had left her there on the royal grounds? Why?
King Ta Lang sent for his court diviners, who brought their crystal balls, sand trays, magic charts, and other such aids to the palace. After much pondering, they decided that the baby girl was the daughter of the rain god, who had sent her to eventually become the wife of the newborn prince. They advised King Ta Lang to name his son Tou Meng (meaning “Give Thanks”), and the baby girl Chai Mi (meaning “Enables Us to Live”).
The king followed their directions about naming both babies and immediately had them engaged by royal decree.
Prince Tou Meng and Princess Chai Mi grew up the very best of friends. They had great fun playing ball and other games, climbing trees, riding donkeys, flying kites, dancing, shooting arrows in archery contests, and swimming in the Lan River. Although Chai Mi was really better at everything than Tou Meng, she always let him win by a small margin.
There was at court one man whom she did not fool about her superior skills—the king’s Chief General, who watched her progress through narrow, jealous eyes. Chai Mi, he thought, was too smart and athletic. Someday she might be a threat to his power. So he plotted against her and bided his time. …
Prince Tou Meng and Chai Mi grew up, and one day when she was in the River Lan swimming alone, Chai Mi found a roll of parchment. She took it to King Ta Lang, who unrolled and read it. He was stunned to discover that it was a secret plan to attack Shen Su!
The king mustered his army and hastily led them off to try to intercept the enemy. There were many tears, not only by Chai Mi and the women, children, and few old men who had to stay behind, but also by the sky, which rained steadily, flooding the Lan River, overflowing its banks, and washing away all its boats, piers, and bridges.
A few days after the army had gone, the defenseless stay-at-homes had a shocking surprise: The fierce enemy army appeared on the opposite bank of the swollen river, ready to attack as soon as the flood subsided and they could cross! The women, children, and old men had nothing to protect them except the raging river whose tide could fall as quickly as it had risen.
Chai Mi had a daring plan. She put the women to work.
Meanwhile, the enemy chieftain had a scheme of his own. A powerful man, he swam across the river, carrying a long rope that he tied to a willow stump. Then he ordered his soldiers to use the rope to help them across. They could carry only a light bow and arrows, but five hundred men thus armed would make short work of conquering their easy prey.
But instead of cringing, weeping women, they found a thousand soldiers marching in glistening armor, wearing hideous false faces (as was the custom in Far Eastern warfare in those days)! The soldiers carried sharp chang chiang (long, heavy spears), and their leader wore the king’s gold armor. Following them marched a thousand archers.
The attacking enemy realized they didn’t have a chance—their flimsy arrows could not dent the armor of the Shen Su defenders, they were hopelessly outnumbered, and they couldn’t retreat because only the raging river was behind them! They surrendered to a fierce-talking old man who took their arms and ordered the enemy troops still across the river to throw their weapons into the river.
The would-be attackers obeyed the old man, who followed orders given by the leader dressed in the king’s golden armor—Princess Chai Mi. During the surrender and the throwing-away of weapons, the Shen Su defenders clanged their spears against the river rocks and boulders as if furious at being deprived of a battle. Their tough enemies never realized that they were surrendering to an army of girls and women!
King Ta Lang and his army were crossing the Lan River in his swan-shape sampan on their way back to Shen Su, when he learned of Chai Mi’s clever and courageous trick. As he was wondering how to reward her, the Chief General finally saw a way to destroy the girl he feared, and said, “Your Majesty seems to have forgotten the law of your honorable ancestors!”
“What law?”
“The Law of Liu Ti that says no woman may put on the king’s garments. Whoever dares to do so must lose her head by the sword! Chai Mi has put on Your Majesty’s armor—she must die!” He handed King Ta Lang a death warrant to sign.
No one knows if the king really would have signed it, because at that moment the waters of the Lan River surged angrily and swallowed the royal sampan. King Ta Lang and his Chief General were never seen or heard of again. Chai Mi was soon married to Tou Meng, and together they ruled Shen Su for many happy years.