Gospel Story Finder

Winter is a cold time of year in the Russia Moscow Mission. To a missionary this sometimes seems true of not only the weather but also the people. They become introverted. Everybody seems to be rushing home after work. People are ill, the roads are terribly slick, and the cold ruthlessly bites every exposed piece of skin. Smiles are rare.
My companion and I found ourselves in these conditions during the winter of 2005. We wanted to cheer people up by sharing our message of faith, hope, and love, but nobody wanted to listen. And to be honest, my mood wasn’t all that great. I couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Day after day we walked the cold streets in search of people to teach, freezing our feet to the bone. In spite of the discouraging circumstances, we didn’t want to give up. Christmas was getting close, and we wanted to help people feel the Christmas spirit. But how?
One evening as we were on the train returning home, a small group of musicians walked into the railcar. They played wonderfully, but to my surprise, their performance didn’t have an effect on anybody. Maybe a person or two gave them some pocket change, but the rest just stared out the frosty windows. I felt bad for the performers and gave them a few coins.
Soon we arrived at the station near our apartment and ran home. As soon as I closed the apartment door, the phone rang. I picked it up and recognized the voice of our district leader. That day we were supposed to have thought of ideas for celebrating the Christmas season as missionaries. I had totally forgotten, but I didn’t want him to know that. Straining for an idea, I remembered the group of musicians and suggested that our district could sing Christmas hymns on the trains. I could accompany them on the violin. To my surprise and perhaps dismay, our district leader loved the idea. We decided on a day. “What was I thinking!” I said to myself, remembering that three of the missionaries in our district were tone-deaf.
The day came and the missionaries met on the platform. The sun had set long ago, and it was terribly cold. My feet were already numb. We rehearsed for about five minutes until the train crept slowly up to the platform. We gladly entered its open doors, getting out of the cold wind and snow. I took my violin out of its case and silently prayed that God would touch the hearts of the listeners.
As we boarded the train, most of the people didn’t pay any attention to us. My fingers hadn’t warmed up yet, so when I started to play, the tone of the violin sounded very simple but very piercing. Suddenly the mood in the railcar changed. It was almost as if something could be felt in the air. The passengers seemed to hold their breath. The other missionaries joined with me, singing the words to “Silent Night”:
Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon virgin mother and Child.
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace;
Sleep in heavenly peace.1
While I played and the other missionaries sang, nobody in the railcar spoke a single word. When we finished the hymn, I looked around at people’s faces. Everybody was looking attentively at us. Tears were flowing down the cheeks of several women. It was silent for a minute as nobody wanted to interrupt the moment. Finally a man standing in the back of the railcar exclaimed, “They are Saints, genuine Saints!” Everyone began to applaud.
As we walked down the aisle, many people wanted to give us money. When we didn’t accept it, they became all the more surprised. I heard somebody saying under his breath, “This just doesn’t happen.” One man even tried to give us a thousand rubles and was shocked when we refused the money. Instead, we offered him a pass-along card, which he gladly took. Soon other passengers began asking for pass-along cards. They also asked about the Church and us. It seemed like wherever we looked, our eyes were met with smiling faces and warm greetings. At the end of the railcar, we wished the passengers a merry Christmas and waved good-bye to our new friends.
On the other side of the door, we looked at each other in disbelief. “What just happened?” we asked. Then, with twice as much energy, we entered the next door. At first the passengers didn’t pay any attention to us, but after we performed the hymn, they had the same miraculous reaction. For the rest of the evening, we made our way through the railcars, experiencing the same thing in each one. Never before had I seen such acceptance and love.
Returning home that night, I realized that I had experienced a miracle wrought by music, a message about the Savior, and the spirit of Christmas. Even in the coldest times of our lives, we can be comforted by the Lord’s presence. How blessed I was to have seen how drastically people can change under the influence of the Spirit. I will always remember that evening and treasure it in my heart. May the Spirit forever work such miracles!

I recently have learned about a Japanese art form called kintsugi, meaning “golden repair,” which consists of repairing broken pottery by mending the cracks with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold. Once completed, beautiful seams of gold become conspicuous in the repaired cracks, giving a unique appearance to each repaired piece. This unique method incorporates the vessel’s fractures—instead of hiding or disguising them. Indeed, kintsugi often makes the repaired piece appear even more beautiful than the original, giving it a new look and a second life.
As I pondered this, I realized that it was what the Lord was doing to me. Many years ago, I was in a situation during which I found myself, as written in Psalms 31:12, “a broken vessel.” After having repeatedly tried in vain to save a relationship that I thought was idyllic, but was actually mired in misunderstandings and complications, I was emotionally, mentally and spiritually broken. It was as if the very thing on which I had focused all of my energy had just suddenly vanished. Only I remained—burdened in my medical studies with the approaching exams. I did not have the mind and strength to pursue such a difficult endeavor—a weakened student as I was at that time. The only thing I could do was to hold fast to the little flame of faith that was starting to burn inside of me by finding peace in reading the set of scriptures that had been just given to me.
And then occurred the magic touch of the Master, demonstrating His infinite love and unfolding His immeasurable redeeming power. Figuratively mending each crack in my heart, mind, and soul with His “golden lacquer of love” and resulting in my becoming far more valuable through the very scars which came from that “experience, and [being] for [my] good.”1 Throughout this repairing process, the Lord operated on me and resulted in my discovering the Book of Mormon, then going through the painful—but at the same time joyful—process of repenting, and later receiving the holy ordinances of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

My niece Mariela was only eight years old when her mother died. Afterward, her father—my brother—took her, her brother, and the children’s grandmother and moved to another part of the country.
At about the same time, I dreamed of my niece’s mother. Because of the dream, I felt impressed to pay special attention to Mariela. I determined to do so; however, it was difficult because she lived far away. We usually saw each other only during vacations, but at those times, I told her about the Church, about gospel standards, and about the love God has for His children.
As the years passed and Mariela became a young woman, I grew to feel a mother’s love for her. Eventually she finished her university studies and began working. The missionaries visited her several times, and I fervently hoped she would be baptized. Then she was transferred in her employment, and she moved farther away. I continued to pray for her.
Not long after this, Mariela suffered over the deaths of three people she loved very much. Her grandmother, who had raised her, died. Later her boyfriend was killed in an automobile accident. This loss was followed shortly by the death of her father. These events plunged my niece into despair, and she lost much of her interest in life. I continued to try to encourage and comfort her and to explain that she could endure even these sad experiences.
A year after her father’s death, I arranged for his temple ordinances to be performed. His wife and a daughter who had died in infancy were sealed to him, and both he and his wife were sealed to their parents.
The next time Mariela came to see me, I showed her the family group records. I told her what temple ordinances we had done for her family members. Then I explained that they would have the opportunity to accept the gospel and these ordinances that had been performed in their behalf, and I assured my niece that families can be together eternally. She was deeply moved and asked to borrow some past issues of the Liahona (Spanish). After that she began visiting me more regularly, and we often spoke about the gospel.
One day Mariela told me the missionaries had taught her the discussions and she had accepted the gospel. She said she was convinced of the truthfulness of the gospel because of the importance it places on families. I wept with happiness.
I give thanks to my Father in Heaven. I believe this is what He desired all along—the bringing of the gospel to family members on both sides of the veil.

At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.

“Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.” I had seen this little sign a million times and never thought anything of it. It was only one of many strategically placed thoughts and quotes that dotted the walls of our home. This one happened to be in the best location of all—right above the kitchen table.
When friends came over, we naturally congregated in the kitchen. Dates, late night movies, and quick lunches almost all involved the kitchen. Mom knew this and planned her attack accordingly. Years later I realized what a direct hit Mom had scored.
I was blessed with a lot of friends who are also members of the Church. We went to church and school together, and most of us went on missions at about the same time. However, there was one who was not exactly like the rest of us. His parents were divorced, and he was shuffled between their homes and the homes of friends. As a result, I think he always felt a little isolated and alone. He wore his hair long and always had at least one earring. Regardless, we loved him, and he was one of us.
During high school we witnessed him change; it was great. A short time after his 19th birthday he submitted his mission papers and received a call. A couple of months later we really understood the significance of this event.
The realization came on a cold, crisp Sunday in January. My friends and I had gathered to hear this young man speak in sacrament meeting. I had been invited to perform a musical number, so I sat on the stand. As I gazed over the crowd, I saw all of our friends, as well as my family; it was a wonderful sight. As my friend ventured to the pulpit, his eyes were a little red.
His talk opened with a question: “Do any of you know why I am here? Well, it is really very simple. I am here because of the many meals eaten at a friend’s table, a table with a sign above it that reads, ‘Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.’ I want my friends to know that without their influence and love I wouldn’t be here today.”
As I looked down into the crowd, I saw my mother with teary eyes and a smile.
From that day on, I have also thought about the effects my friends have had on my life. I don’t know if I would have served a mission without their example. I don’t know what kind of a person I would be today if it hadn’t been for the strength and love I received from such wonderful people. For that, I will be forever grateful, both to them and to my Heavenly Father.
I know that no one has forgotten the message shared from that pulpit. I also know that that sign, to this day, still hangs above our kitchen table.

Three friends play in the sandbox. Brynn drops pebbles into a bucket and hears “plink, plunk!” Brynn shakes the bucket. “Rattle, rattle!” say the pebbles. Ezra scoops sand with his shovel. “Shoosh, shoosh,” goes the sand. Mia taps the side of the sandbox with two sticks. “Tap, tap!” beat the sticks. The three friends play a song. “Rattle, rattle!” say the pebbles. “Shoosh, shoosh,” goes the sand. “Tap, tap!” beat the sticks. “What should we call our song?” asks Brynn. “How about ‘Sandbox Sounds’?” says Ezra. “Perfect!” says Mia. “Rattle, rattle, shoosh, shoosh, tap, tap!” sings the sandbox.

Maria twirled in the pretty new Sunday dress that her grandmother had made for her. It was pink with white ribbons. It was the prettiest dress Maria had ever had, and she felt very beautiful in it. She smiled at herself in the mirror and twirled again to make the skirt fan out. Maria was excited to go to church on Sunday to show her friends her new dress.
At church Maria liked hearing all her friends say nice things about her dress. In Primary she played with the ribbons on her dress instead of listening to Sister Sánchez’s lesson.
Maria didn’t pay attention to the testimonies people gave in sacrament meeting either. She was busy untying and retying each of the bows on her dress over and over again.
When the meeting was over, she noticed that some people had tears in their eyes as they left the chapel.
“Why are those people crying, Mama?” Maria asked.
“They felt the Spirit today,” Mama said as she wiped away a tear of her own. “And sometimes that brings tears to our eyes. The testimonies were wonderful, weren’t they?”
Maria didn’t answer. She couldn’t remember anything anyone had said.
That night as Mama tucked Maria into bed, Maria asked, “Why didn’t I feel the Spirit in church today, Mama?”
“The Spirit speaks in a still, small voice,” Mama said. “We must pay attention to notice it. When we go to church, we need to focus on Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—then we can feel the Spirit.”
Maria thought about what she had been focusing on at church that day. She had been thinking about her new dress, not about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
The next week Maria wore her pretty pink dress to church again. But she listened to Sister Sánchez in Primary. In sacrament meeting she tried to think about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Maria left church feeling the Spirit in her heart. She was glad she had gone to church not just to show off her new dress.

Jody had five older brothers and sisters. When Jody was little, being the youngest was fun because she got special attention. But now that Jody was getting bigger, being the youngest sometimes meant being overlooked.
For example, today when Jody came home from school she had lots of exciting things to tell her mother, but Mom was busy in the garage helping Jody’s brother Derek repair his bike. Later, before dinner, Jody’s oldest sister, Lisa, was in the kitchen with Mom. Lisa was helping fix dinner, chatting endlessly about boys. After dinner, Jody’s sister Amber needed help with her math homework. Then it was time for family prayer, and Jody was off to bed.
On days like these, Jody was grateful she had her secret journal friend. That night she wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I wish I could spend more time with Mom. She is always busy with the family, but I wanted to tell her about school today. I got 100 percent on my spelling test, we did gymnastics in P.E., and in art, I made a beautiful flower out of tissue paper. I like my teacher a lot, but I love my mom.
Your friend,
Jody
Jody felt better when she had finished writing. She put the journal next to her bed, said her prayers, and went to sleep.
The next day, when Jody got home from school, her mother wasn’t there. Lisa told her that their sister, Ellen, who shared a room with Jody, had gotten sick and Mom had taken her to the doctor.
When Jody went into her bedroom to drop off her backpack she saw her journal on her pillow. She opened the journal and read the reply from her secret journal friend.
Dear Jody,
Your mom loves you very much too, and wants to spend more time with you. Why don’t you invite her out for ice cream on Friday night? You know how much she likes rainbow sherbet.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
Jody smiled. The ice cream was a good idea. It sounded like fun. But right now Jody was worried about her sister. She wanted to do something to make her feel better.
Jody took out her pencil and wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
I am sorry that Ellen is sick. I want to give her my tissue-paper flower, even though I made it for Mom. Do you think Mom would mind?
Your friend,
Jody
Then Jody remembered something else she was feeling bad about and wrote:
P.S. Today in art I got mad at my friend, Sara, because she spilled my paints. I even pulled her hair. Later I told her I was sorry. Will you still be my friend even when I do bad things?
The next day after school Jody found Ellen resting in their bedroom and gave her the brightly colored flower. Ellen’s eyes lit up and she grinned.
“Thanks, Jody,” Ellen said. “It’s really pretty. It makes me feel cheerful just looking at it.”
Jody smiled. Then she sat down on her bed and started reading her journal.
“What are you doing?” Ellen asked.
“I’m reading a message from my secret journal friend,” Jody told her.
“Your secret friend?” Ellen asked. “I think I saw your secret friend writing in your journal today. Do you want me to tell you who it is?”
“No thanks,” Jody responded. She took her journal out to the living room couch so she could be alone. She sat down and read:
Dear Jody,
I’m sure your mother won’t mind you giving away her flower. She will be very proud of you for being such a thoughtful sister.
From,
Your Secret Journal Friend
(who loves you always, NO MATTER WHAT)
Jody turned to a blank page, thought for a moment, then wrote:
Dear Secret Journal Friend,
Ellen liked the flower. I’m glad I gave it to her. Last night I prayed that she would feel better, and now she does!
I used to wonder how Heavenly Father can hear everyone’s prayers when there are so many people in the world, but now I think I know. Because Heavenly Father loves us no matter what, He will always find a way to answer our prayers.
Then Jody wrote in extra big letters:
I LOVE YOU, MOM!
Thanks for being my secret friend and my mother.
Love,
Jody
P.S. Don’t forget—tonight is ice-cream night!

On the way to my new job, I started to worry.
What if I’m not good enough? I thought as I rode the bus. What if they think I can’t do a good job?
Then I had a clear feeling: Try your best. Even if it doesn’t go well, there’s somebody who loves you.
I thought about my husband. I knew he would love me even if my job didn’t go well. And then I thought about Jesus Christ. I knew that He would always love me. I could feel it in my heart. I said a simple prayer asking Heavenly Father to help me.
When I got to work, I did my best. When I made a mistake, I just kept trying. I remembered that someone still loved me.

Years ago, while a … schoolboy in far-off England, I made acquaintance with an aged sage who placed implicit trust in the … stars … He devoted himself with great energy to instruct me in the mysteries of astrology. I drank at this fountain of error with increasing thirst, and trusted his words with all the power of a child’s simple faith … Before I was ten years old, I had learned to cast the horoscope …
“Among my schoolmates was a big blustering fellow, who ruled … the playground by his great strength. We all acknowledged his supremacy, and paid him tribute of our property … Further, he compelled us to do his arithmetic for him, to draw his maps, and write his essays … If any boy appeared to doubt his authority … a severe beating was applied to bring the rebel to a sense of his duty.
“Worse than this, our oppressor … was the son of a wealthy family, and the teacher favored him …
I consulted the stars, and determined to break the chains that bound us and to set myself and my schoolfellows free … I managed to find from the bully’s sister the date and exact hour of Ben’s birth. With this information I hurried home, and at once proceeded to compute his horoscope. Ah! I might have known it: … He was a son of Saturn, born when the planet was in ill conjunction: it was no wonder then that he was untrustworthy, mean, and cruel. Then I cast the horoscope of the future, and found that at a convenient hour, five o’clock in the afternoon Wednesday, his star would be declining, and mine would be ascending … Surely the day of our deliverance was near at hand: the stars had promised to help me in my dangerous enterprise, and victory was assured. Force should be subdued by the power of superior knowledge.
“So on the morning of the appointed day I confronted the big bully on the playground, and challenged him to meet me that evening at five o’clock, boldly expressing my determination to show him who would be master from that time forth … He laughed loudly and cuffed my ears; but this I bore … for the time of revenge had not yet come … During the day I received many a hearty wish for success …
“At five o’clock we were at the appointed place; a score of boys were there to see that everything was fair. My antagonist was nearly 30 centimeters taller, and fully a stone (14 pounds) heavier than I, but these were trifles I ignored; had I not the happy assurance of the stars that I should win? I made a speech to the burly fellow, telling a few of his many acts of oppression and cruelty, and closed with a … flourish, declaring that henceforth we would be free. This was received with a laugh of derision by my opponent, and the hostilities began.
“The conflict, though fierce, was … brief. I gradually recovered consciousness, and found myself lying on the ground, cheek cut, eyes bruised, nose smashed, a couple of teeth loosened, and a quantity of hair gone. The bully left without a scratch.
“As I slowly walked homeward, I was in an unusually thoughtful state. I began for the first time in my life to have serious doubts about astrology. Amongst my family my appearance created considerable consternation; then my father reminded me of his oft repeated injunctions against fighting; and to impress the lesson firmly upon my mind, he proceeded to illustrate his lecture by hitting me several times with the buckle end of a stout strap.
“This was convincing. My doubts vanished, and with them all my confidence in the horoscope. I knew that astrology was a fraud.”
(James E. Talmage, extracted from an article entitled, “My Study of Astrology,” which appeared in The Contributor in 1893.)

The hardwood shook to the happy stomping as the boys’ wall swept the girls’ wall into the dance, ending all thought of wallflowers and wallweeds in a magical flash of music.
Cold February moonlight sparkled between pine shadows on the snow outside the rustic dance hall, but inside Hot August reigned as the Mormon dance band by that name made people’s feet itch. The pine trees outside seemed to sway with the rhythm, as happy, well-groomed young men and women all over the floor told a story with their smiles. They had lived the kind of lives that allowed them to meet life with joy, never looking over their shoulders. They were savoring a sweet present unmarred by the past.
The air in Denver, Colorado, is clean and almost telescopic in its clarity, a fitting home for an outstanding group of young Latter-day Saints who, thanks to the gospel, can literally “see forever.” Scattered two or three to a high school, these young men and women are very much in the world, and in order to avoid being of it, they must constantly and steadfastly say no to many things. But they get together often, because whenever they can find a wholesome activity, they lead the world in giving an exuberant, roof-rattling yes! Last February their yes took them into the Rocky Mountains on what they called a winter retreat.
The activity was well named, because winter had retreated deep into the Rockies, pursued by one of the driest years on record. Where snow drifts were normally overhead, they were now underfoot, but the group overtook the elusive white stuff at Snow Mountain Ranch, a YMCA camp about 90 miles out of and up from Denver, and gave it a pounding it will never forget.
The youth of the Denver Colorado Stake met in the afternoon at their stake center, and after a prayer, boarded Greyhound buses. The buses rolled quietly along the freeway for a while through old mining towns, but then they suddenly dropped their tails and soared like eagles on a thermal, back and forth up the face of the solemn old Rockies. At the end of every switchback it was hard to believe how high they were above where they had been seconds before. The night was fueled on song—everything from “Who Are These Children?” to “Granny’s in the Cellar.” There was time for pondering some profound questions too. These young gospel scholars may not know, like their Medieval counterparts, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but they can tell you with some authority how many young Latter-day Saints can fit on one Greyhound bus seat.
They could tell you some more important things too. One of the young men spoke of President Kimball’s visit to Denver to preside over a solemn assembly in the stake center. This young man had gone early to the center just to see a living prophet as he entered the building.
“I was amazed,” he said. “When President Kimball walked from his car to the building, people just kept driving on by and walking down the sidewalk without even a second glance. They didn’t know who was among them.”
The young Latter-day Saints knew, however, even if most people in Denver didn’t. These young men and women have a great love for their leaders, including the bishoprics and other officers in their own wards.
A sky-high experience was waiting for them at the 10,000-foot camp. They had been scheduled to stay in some dormitories resembling cut-rate bomb shelters, but on arrival they discovered that the camp manager had made special arrangements for them to stay in the nicest accommodations, a lodge that boasted a huge lounge with a fireplace, and comfortable, carpeted rooms. He explained that he had been so impressed with the last group of Mormons to stay at the camp that he knew he could trust LDS youth with the best. The nameless Mormon group who paved the way for this happy surprise will never know the impression they made, but these young people from the Denver area were grateful for their example.
Example is something they know a lot about, because examples are what they have to be at all times. “People expect so much more of you when they know you’re Mormon,” one girl said. “We have to be really strong to live up to our reputation.”
Another young lady said, “I know a lot of guys at school, and you can always tell the active Mormons. They look different. They talk differently. They act differently. They are a lot more concerned and caring about people. They are so much more friendly. They not only don’t do things to hurt people, but they go out of their way not to. They’re not thinking of themselves all the time. Their standards are so much higher. They still have fun, but you can tell that they’re doing what they know is right.”
One young man added, “Once a friend asked me, ‘You can’t drink, you can’t smoke, and you can’t do all those other things. What do you do for fun?’ and I told him, ‘I live! I’m alive and healthy, and I don’t need all that stuff.’”
By constantly living their religion in spite of numerous temptations, they have interested many of their friends in the Church, and as a result some of them have joined.
After checking into their rooms that night (the young men on one floor, the young women on another), the group walked through the moonlight and stillness to the dance hall where Hot August led them in wearing off some shoe leather. When the last dance had ended, the group met in the lounge to sing songs, watch the fire flicker, and eat popcorn. As they sat singing, they could see the snowy hill slanting past their picture window, the cold night washed in moonlight. The scene shimmered like a decanter of distilled Christmas.
Sleep was scheduled next, but it turned out to be a whole new style of sleep, consisting of a lot of radio music, laughing, and visiting with friends. If some of these young people had been around when the English language was being formed, the word sleep might never have been invented.
The next day dawned very cold, and the group began early by standing in line in the snow for what seemed like hours waiting their turn in the cafeteria line, an experience they enjoyed twice more during the day. Fortunately, getting up early was second nature to these young yes-sayers. Every weekday morning most of them start letting their lights shine about 4:30, when the rest of their neighborhoods are dark and silent. At 6:00 they attend early-morning seminary, their favorite class of the day. One of them said: “You’ve got to have a balance. All day long you’re bucking temptation; you’re bucking the world, and if you can start your day with the spiritual uplift of seminary, you feel that you can make it through the day. It gives you the extra momentum you need to get through. Whenever you get down during the day, you can remember what you learned in seminary that morning.”
Between meals the day was spent in several forms of Mormon madness. One was the Wonderful One-Man Plus Team Freestyle Two-Tube Ice-Eating Relays. Theoretically, one man on each team was inserted into the holes of two inflated innertubes, which were then rolled by the team to the end of the skating ice and back again. In reality, once inside the tubes, the man was often grasped by a glove or a boot and dragged unceremoniously over the course in a pretzel-puzzle of man, tube, and flying ice.
While the teams were busy pushing and pulling their hapless tube-jockeys toward the finish line, the spectators took part in a spontaneous Alice in Wonderland sort of ritual that consisted of standing on the sidelines heaving huge snowballs at the contestants as they passed. In between heats the genteel crowd threw snowballs at each other. When the races were over, this pastime degenerated slightly into a general free-for-all snowball fight. Interspersed among these rather formal events, volunteers from the group did freestyle slides on the slippery ice, a hair-raising and bump-raising crowd pleaser.
For a rest there was roller skating at the camp rink and tubing on a kamikaze run about the width of a yawn and a stretch. Hewn out of the thick timber, this chute of packed snow resembled a pinball machine as the riders caromed off mattress-and-haybale-protected trees. They came snaking down in chains of people-heaped tubes, spraying snow and sometimes exploding into tumbles of human snowbanks.
After drying out and warming up that evening, the group listened quietly as three of their bishops and a member of the stake presidency spoke to them of the joy that comes from wholehearted devotion to the gospel. Afterwards, young men and women stood to bear their own testimonies, sometimes speaking frankly of the wrestle they had had with life, and of how the gospel helped them to conquer—sometimes simply of the joy that comes from knowing something so important so surely. They all spoke of their love for one another.
“I have a lot of nonmember friends at school,” one of them said, “and their lives are so different from mine because they don’t know where they’re going, because they haven’t been taught. They’re not aiming for anything. They have no goals. I know what want to do with my life. I know where I’m going.”
As the buses glided down the mountains, back to the mile-high city of Denver, the young people knew they were going back to a world of very real conflicts where they would still have to say no many times to preserve their standards. But they also knew, and everyone with them knew, that whenever the Lord needed someone to vote yes, their voices would be among the happiest and the loudest.

Illustrated by Sal Velluto and Eugenio Mattozzi
When Wilford Woodruff became the prophet, many Church members did not have enough money. Wilford especially worried about some of the farmers.
President Woodruff: What can the Church do to help the people?
After hearing a report on sugar, President Woodruff felt the Church should begin growing sugar beets. He appointed a committee to learn more.
President Woodruff: The Church needs to know if sugar beets would be a good business.
Committee member: We will find out for you, President.
When the committee decided that growing sugar would not be a good idea, President Woodruff asked a second group to look into it again.
Committee member: This group agrees with the first. We do not think sugar beet manufacturing would be a good business for the Church.
President Woodruff: Never mind this report. I feel inspired to start the sugar beet industry.
Just as the new company began planning to build a factory, Utah began to have serious money trouble. It was not a good time to begin a business.
Committee member: President Woodruff, it is just as we feared. The Utah Sugar Company will never survive!
Committee member: We recommend that you get out of the business while you still can.
President Woodruff would not agree.
President Woodruff: The Lord has inspired me to have us work with sugar beets, and we will. Every time I think of abandoning it, there is darkness; and every time I think of building it, there is light.We will build the factory even if it busts the Church!
As the prophet, President Woodruff always tried to lead the Church through the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. The sugar company eventually helped many struggling farmers.

He said, “You know where Zion’s Bank is, on the corner of Main Street and South Temple Street?”
I said, “Yes.”
He continued, “Your great-grandfather built the finest home in Salt Lake City on that corner, with the exception of Brigham Young’s home (which, of course, was the Lion House which still stands). He had it all finished. It was a beautiful home—two stories with a porch at both levels on both sides of the house. It had a white picket fence around it with fruit trees and ornamental trees and with a little stream running through the yard. He was all ready to move his families in from their log cabins when President Young called him into the office one day. ‘Brother Benson,’ he said, ‘we would like you to go to Cache Valley in northern Utah and pioneer that area and preside over the Saints. We suggest you sell your home to Daniel H. Wells.’
“Now,” President Grant said, “Daniel H. Wells was Brigham Young’s counselor. Wasn’t that a mean trick? Come on, brethren, let’s go.”
Since that time, I have been most grateful for the so-called “mean trick” of President Young, because were it not for that, the Bensons would not have their roots in Cache Valley.

Then I thought of my niece Ashley. She too knows of the love her Father in Heaven has for her, yet her experience was quite the opposite of Jocelyn’s.
About a year ago Ashley was walking with her father and mother across seaside boulders near their home in northern California. Her dad was photographing beautiful scenes for watercolors he would paint. Out of nowhere and with no forewarning, a rogue wave engulfed the shore, carrying her father out to sea and dragging her mother along the boulders. Ashley was inland far enough that the killer wave missed her. Terrorized by what she had just witnessed, she ran for help.
Within minutes, a man with a cell phone called emergency numbers, and a rescue began. Her mother had landed in a precarious spot where she could be reached only by helicopter. She was in excruciating pain with a broken back and arm and with numerous cuts and gashes due to the vicious rocks and fierce ocean. Ashley’s father was nowhere to be found. As Ashley’s mother lay on the edge of the sea waiting for rescue, she felt her husband’s presence, and she knew without a doubt that he was gone. His body never was recovered.
Heavenly Father didn’t save Ashley’s dad. Yet Ashley still knows that He loves her. She says: “During that time I felt comfort from the Holy Ghost. I knew I would see my dad again. And I felt the Lord’s love through the kind care of others.”

Kim and Neil Davis were getting nervous.
You see, they come from a very goal-oriented family with six children, and they always help each other accomplish the things they set out to do. When they set a goal as a family, there’s almost no stopping them.
That’s why they were getting anxious now. Time was growing short. They’d set a goal to introduce a new family to the gospel every six months, and here it was, the last week of that time period, and not one interested family had materialized.
They’d fulfilled this goal many times in the past. When the Davises had lived in Boston and Washington, D.C., they could introduce lots of families to the gospel. “Not only would we have them over for the missionary discussions,” says Kim, 16, the oldest daughter, “but we’d invite them to family home evenings, pumpkin carvings, have Easter egg coloring parties, and special Christmas programs.”
But now the family was back in Utah, and it wasn’t as easy finding non-LDS families to share the gospel with. The end of their six-month time frame was looming near, and they hadn’t found anyone. The Davises knew theirs was a righteous desire, so they had family prayers and fasted. The six children each asked for help in their individual prayers.
And then, on the last day of the sixth month, their prayers were answered.
“My dad is used to receiving foreign mail from doctors asking for copies of articles,” explains Kim. Her father, Dr. Kim Davis, has done research and been published in a number of medical journals. “So when he picked up the letter from Hungary, he didn’t think much of it, until he opened it and read what was inside.”
“We were so excited!” says Neil, age 13. The letter was from a family in Hungary. They had seen a television documentary about Utah on Hungarian national television, and it had mentioned the Mormons and some of their beliefs. What had impressed this family most was the idea that families could be together forever. They wanted to know more about a church which taught that, so the father, being a doctor, and the son, being a medical resident, pored over back medical journals until they found an address in Utah. It happened to be Dr. Davis’s. The Hungarian family asked if their letter could be forwarded to some information center.
There was no need for that. The Davises went immediately down to the distribution center and collected all the Church information they could find in Hungarian. They put it in a box, and shipped it to their newfound investigator family.
Then they went home and wrote their testimonies of the gospel. They put those in an envelope, along with pictures of their family, and sent them to the Keresztis as well.
The Keresztis were amazed when they received a big box so soon from the United States and eagerly began reading the material. They were even more amazed when they received the letter and found that such a large family could be so close and have such strong testimonies of the gospel. Though the Keresztis had only one child, which is quite common in Hungary, they felt just as strong about family unity and were ecstatic to find something to help them.
Soon the Davises and the Keresztis were exchanging letters and pictures frequently. “We grew very close,” says Kim. “When we got a letter from them, our whole family would pass it around, and we’d read it at family home evening. We were so excited to see how they were accepting the gospel in Hungary, and we couldn’t believe it was happening to us.”
In the meantime, the Davises contacted the mission president in Vienna, Austria. Through him, the Keresztis were able to have missionary discussions about once a month.
“When we got the letter saying they were going to be baptized in Vienna, Austria, it was really neat,” says Neil. “And when we got pictures taken after their baptism, that was great!”

Sister Chieko N. Okazaki of the Relief Society general presidency recalls, “When my husband passed away, I was in the depths of sorrow and pain and was grasping for comfort. I turned to the scriptures and began to evaluate my life. When I went to church that Sunday after we buried him, I listened closely to the sacrament prayer and felt very surely that I could have the Savior’s Spirit with me—and that I could do this by renewing my covenants with him. It was as simple as that. I am grateful that I can partake of this priesthood ordinance and receive this comfort every Sunday.”

One cool, crisp day we were scrimmaging on the football field at Granite High School in Salt Lake City. We were preparing for a big game on Friday afternoon. The farmers who had been harvesting their celery crops in the fields around the stadium came over to watch us. Earlier that afternoon the fastener on my helmet had broken, and I had difficulty keeping my helmet on. In every play as I was jostled, my helmet would fly off and go rolling away, and I would have to scurry around and find it before the next play. Coach Rex Sutherland would not let us play without helmets because it was too dangerous.
On one important play I received a slight jar and my helmet went rolling away, but the play was still moving and I was in the middle of it. I didn’t want to leave the action of the play and go find my helmet, so I continued to press hard to tackle the ball carrier on the other side. I put my head down to bore in and try to grab the ball carrier. One of the players who was running interference for the ball carrier hit me hard, and I went down and lost consciousness.
Imagine my embarrassment when I regained consciousness and found the players huddled around looking down at me while I was lying on my back on the ground. It seemed like not only the players, but also the spectators were wondering what was the matter with me. Coach Sutherland wanted to know, in a concerned voice, if I could move. I was a little sick to my stomach and unsteady, but I said in as strong a voice as I could muster that I was all right. Then I got up and found my helmet and headed for my position in the lineup for the next play.
That was the only time that I was ever knocked unconscious. It was my own fault. I had learned a great lesson—it is always important to keep your chin strap fastened so that your helmet is in place and you have protection.

The next Sunday was fast Sunday. I had hoped to make a discreet entry, but when we arrived it seemed that everyone greeted us with a smile and a kind word. Many people welcomed me to the ward and asked if I was new. However, when I quietly passed along the sacrament tray without partaking, my three-year-old loudly asked, “Mom, aren’t you hungry?” Then my 11-year-old stood up to bear her testimony and said how happy she was that her mom had quit drinking beer and had started coming back to church. So much for quietly sneaking in!

“Because a temple is sacred, the Lord asks that it be protected from desecration. Anyone may enter who is willing to prepare well for that privilege. The concept of preparation prevails in other fields of endeavor. I remember when I was but a young boy, I told my parents I wanted to attend the university. They said I could, but only if I worked hard in preliminary schooling and met all the requirements for admission to the university. Similarly, we must qualify for admission to the temple. We prepare physically, intellectually, and spiritually.”—Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Prepare for Blessings of the Temple,” Ensign, Mar. 2002, 18–19.

In 1831, Ezra Booth witnessed the healing of Alice “Elsa” Johnson’s arm by Joseph Smith. That miracle convinced Ezra that Joseph was a prophet and led to his baptism and subsequent ordination as an elder in the Church. Several weeks later, Ezra went with other Church elders, along with Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon, to Jackson County, Missouri, USA (see Doctrine and Covenants 52:22–34). After they arrived, the Lord revealed to the Prophet that the City of Zion would be located in Independence, a small town in the county (see Doctrine and Covenants 57:1–3).
Ezra was very disappointed in hearing the news. Independence—which was still relatively undeveloped—seemed too rough to serve as the “center place” of Zion. “The prospect appeared somewhat gloomy,” Ezra explained, because the town contained only “two or three merchant stores, and fifteen or twenty dwelling houses.”1 How could Independence become the beautiful Zion he had heard so much about?
Ezra’s disappointment deepened when he realized that few Church members lived in Independence. Joseph had prophesied that a large congregation would exist in Independence. But when the prophecy hadn’t yet been fulfilled, Ezra began to question Joseph. He didn’t think Joseph conducted himself the way a prophet should, and he refused to share his testimony with the people of Jackson County.2 His disappointment slowly transformed into dissension.
The Lord asked Ezra to repent because he and others “condemned for evil that thing in which there was no evil.” The Lord said, “When these things are made known unto them, and they repent of the evil, they shall be forgiven.” (See Doctrine and Covenants 64:15–17.)
But Ezra never repented. Instead, he left the Church, became a bitter critic of Joseph Smith, and published a series of letters against him.3