Gospel Story Finder

Elder Strong was six feet, two inches tall and weighed 220 pounds. He looked like he should be a linebacker for an American football team. But he seemed very unsure of himself when I asked what his strengths as a missionary would be.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, do you have some goals, something you’d like to accomplish while you’re here?”
“Uhm, well, I haven’t really … I don’t know.”
That night, after the missionaries were in bed, I went to my office. I always did this, in case someone felt a need to talk with me. The office was just down the stairs and two doors away from the room where the elders were sleeping.
In a few minutes, I heard someone tap on the door.
It was Elder Strong.
“I have to go home, president.”
“Tell me about it.”
After tears and a tender moment or two, he said at first that he didn’t have a testimony, that he was unsure of himself, that he couldn’t learn the scriptures, and a number of other excuses. But after we talked a little longer, it became evident that the real problem was that Elder Strong was homesick.
Until he entered the MTC, he had never been away from home overnight. He was so attached to his mother that even though he had just seen her at the airport a few hours ago, he felt he had to phone her and tell her that everything was all right. She had insisted that he call when he arrived, and he hadn’t.
So I talked to his mother for him.
Elder Strong had a problem that a lot of missionaries have to deal with—homesickness. It isn’t wrong to love your family. And it’s all right to miss them when you’re apart. But until you can stop constantly thinking about home and get on with your work, you’re not going to be fully involved as a missionary.

One of the most cherished relationships we developed was with the Ahmadiyya Muslim Association. Without a building of their own, they have used our meetinghouse for several events and have become close friends of our members. A highlight was a youth evening where their young people met with ours to talk about our respective beliefs, share experiences and enjoy sports and games together. The unity and joy felt that evening were so powerful that we plan to make it a regular event.

At another time my companion and I visited two sisters who lived with their mother. Both had a great desire for their mother to join the Church, and whenever we came to visit, they would call for her to join us. But she would always answer, “I’m busy,” or “I have a lot to do,” in an unfriendly tone.
One wintry day—a day when we got so cold and tired that we practically had to force ourselves to finish our visiting—our last stop was at the house of this aloof woman. But when she opened the door, we could see that her whole countenance was changed. Her little granddaughter had just fallen and cut her forehead and was bleeding profusely above the eyebrow. I took a towel and pressed it hard against the wound while my companion quickly found coats so that we could take a taxi to the hospital. While the child was taken care of, we comforted the grandmother and watched the other little girl. Then we took everyone home. Eventually this woman became a member of the Church and a visiting teacher.

This is a change-about story. Color, then cut out the squares at the end of it and put them in a small paper sack or other container that you can’t see into, then read the story aloud with a friend or your family. Whenever you come to a blank, fill it in by drawing a word out of the sack.
From the time Benjamin woke up that morning, everything seemed to go wrong. To begin with, when he decided to wear ____________________ to school, he couldn’t find it because it was hidden under ____________________. So he had to put on ____________________, instead, even though it was upside down and inside out.
“It’s not funny!” Benjamin muttered grumpily when his reflection in the mirror showed ____________________ draped around his neck and ____________________ hanging down in front. He sighed. This was going to be a dumb, crazy, mixed-up day.
Just then Mother called, “Hurry, Benjamin, so you’ll have time to eat ____________________. Your teacher will be pleased if you have ____________________ for breakfast.”
“I’ll be late if I eat that!” Benjamin exclaimed. He snatched ____________________ out of the refrigerator and dashed out the front door, putting on ____________________ to keep him warm.
“Wait!” Mother called. “You forgot ____________________ and money for ____________________!”
But it was too late. Already ____________________ bus was rounding the corner and coming to a stop. Most of the seats were filled by ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________. In place of ____________________, the regular driver, ____________________ sat behind the wheel.
“Climb aboard!” he snapped, sounding just like ____________________. “We can’t wait here all day!”
With a great clashing of ____________________, the driver raced down the street, narrowly missing ____________________ and a lady pushing ____________________ in a baby buggy. In the back of the bus, a chorus made up of ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, ____________________, and ____________________ suddenly began to sing. There was no doubt about it—it was another dumb, crazy, mixed-up day!
At school, things were even worse. During math, the teacher asked, “Benjamin, what is nine times seven?” and he answered ____________________. During social studies, Benjamin tried to hand in ____________________ for his homework, and it spilled all over ____________________ on the teacher’s desk. And at noon he found that Mother had packed ____________________ and ____________________ for his lunch. “Oh, no!” he groaned. “When will this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day ever end?”
After lunch period it was time to practice with the band, one of Benjamin’s favorite classes. But when he reached in to take his horn out of the case, he found ____________________ there instead.
“Come, come, Benjamin,” the band leader scolded, “Whoever heard of playing that in a school band? If your horn isn’t here, borrow ____________________.”
Poor Benjamin was so embarrassed that he bolted out the door and ran blindly down the hall. On the way he bumped into ____________________ and ____________________. At last the bell sounded, and school was over for the day. Benjamin rubbed his jaw with ____________________ and sighed with relief.
After ____________________ bus took him home, Benjamin hurried into the family’s cheery kitchen. At least Mother always set out a delicious after-school snack. But not this time! There on the counter was ____________________ to eat and a glass with ____________________ in it!
Benjamin lost his appetite. “I’ll just put on ____________________ and go to bed,” he declared. “And I’ll stay there until this dumb, crazy, mixed-up day is over.”
And that’s what he did.

a purple puppy
a squashed skateboard
a green giraffe
a brass button
a prickly pelican
a limp lantern
a cuddly kitten
a wilted watermelon
a zany zebra
a dozing dodo
a pink porcupine
a leaping lizard
a helpless hippo
a jogging jackal
a snoopy skunk
a squeaky saxophone
a broken bicycle
a cinnamon camel
a strawberry soda
a toothless tiger
a sassy snake
an orange octopus
an angry alligator
a happy hobo
a nippy noodle
a crispy cracker
a leaky lemon
a rattling rollerskate
a grinning gorilla
a bouncing broom
a prancing pony
a dippy donkey
a frisky frog
some jiggling gelatin
a bent bucket
a polka-dot pumpkin
a croaking company
a rusty rainspout
a friendly fox
a dimpled doughnut
a quirky quince
an exotic explorer

All afternoon the children had filled the house with happy sounds of play and laughter. But toward evening, when Joseph Smith came with news that some wicked men had gathered into a mob and were looking for him to do him harm, a feeling of worry and fear settled over everyone.
A few minutes later some friends of “Brother Joseph” also came to the house and offered to help him escape or to stay all night and act as guards against the mob.
Instead of the lighthearted play of the afternoon, the children’s thoughts were now heavy with concern. They loved Brother Joseph. He always had a smile and a pleasant word for them, and never seemed in too much of a hurry to stop and talk with them as he walked about the streets of Kirtland, Ohio.
As the adults discussed how the Prophet could be protected, the children went with their playmates to Mother’s bedroom to talk about how they might be able to help their beloved friend.
The oldest boy was just ten and the youngest child only four years old. In solemn whispers they made their suggestions, but no one had any solution until a seven-year-old girl quietly said, “I know what we can do. We can pray and ask our Father in heaven to keep Brother Joseph safe from harm.”
At that very moment Mother passed by the partly opened door and overheard the suggestion. She hurried to the room where the men were talking and whispered something to the Prophet Joseph. He excused himself and went with her, and they arrived at the bedroom door just in time to see the children kneeling together and to hear their simple prayer for his safety.
Tears filled his eyes and then rolled down his cheeks. And as the children arose from their knees by the bedside, he heard one of them say, “I know Brother Joseph will be safe now. The wicked men can’t hurt him at all.” And he saw the other children nod in agreement.
He wiped his eyes and returned to the room where the men were still discussing his safety. Joseph Smith thanked them but assured them they need have no fear for his safety. He urged them to go to their own homes and rest, saying he no longer needed to worry about escape or about being guarded throughout the night, for he knew that the prayers of the children had been heard.
Everyone rested in peace that night and the next morning the thankful children had breakfast with their beloved Prophet Joseph Smith.

An acquaintance of mine grew up not far from here. By the time he was 14 years old, he was over six feet tall and very uncoordinated. He said, “One afternoon when I was in a 10th-grade seminary class, the Spirit really touched me. I came to know that the gospel literally was true. I made up my mind that day that I wanted to serve the Lord in any way I could.”
By his senior year, he was well over six feet tall and much more coordinated. Many universities offered him scholarships to play basketball. After his first year playing at a university, he told his coach that he would like to be excused for two years to go on a mission. The coach said, “If you leave, you can be sure of one thing: you will never again wear one of our basketball uniforms!” Many thought that his “mission” ought to be playing basketball. Even some family members, including his parents, tried to convince him not to serve a mission. But he was totally committed. He was willing to give everything to the Lord—the scholarship, the applause of the fans, and the excitement of playing. He knew what the Lord was counting on him to do. He was called, and he served an honorable mission.
When he returned two years later, he was even taller and about 35 pounds heavier. His coach decided to repent. He was permitted to wear one of those basketball uniforms again, and in his senior year, his team not only won the conference championship but went on to the finals in national competition.

With all the talk about the gasoline shortage and air pollution, people are beginning to eye the bicycle more and more seriously as a means of transportation. But there’s at least one group of cyclists who probably don’t want to even look at another bicycle—for a little while at least.
They’re the nine sore but happy bicycle-brigadiers of Explorer Post 9226 of the Laie Third Ward of Oahu Stake, Hawaii, who have completed a 108-mile pedal-power trip around the island of Oahu.
The first leg of their trip began at one in the afternoon and took them 42 miles along the Kamehameha Highway, over narrow roads, through stop and go traffic, up and down long Hawaiian hills, to beautiful Hanauma Bay where they camped for the night.
The next morning they traveled the remaining 66 miles around the island, passing through Waikiki and Pearl City, and arriving back in Laie by four in the afternoon.
In spite of some close calls on the often narrow and busy Hawaiian highways, there were no accidents—not even a flat tire.
Group members included Explorer leader Tom Hunt, and Explorers Creed Walton, Mark Walton, Matthew Loveland, Mike Farley, Jack Hadley, Ward Lokani, Seuseu Suamataia, and Allen Anae.

Suzanne E. Tarasevich of Millville, New Jersey, USA, learned some lessons from Ammon while serving a full-time mission with her husband, Adolf.
“When the large, white envelope containing our mission call arrived in our mailbox,” she says, “my husband and I were ecstatic. We had fasted and prayed about our call. Not that we were concerned about the where of the assignment, but we deeply desired a confirmation that we would have the abilities to meaningfully fulfill our calling.
“Later that evening, with children and grandchildren gathered, we opened the envelope and read our call to the Poland Warsaw Mission. As we did so, we felt peace in our hearts that this was, indeed, an assignment meant for us. We were both overjoyed.”
However, having arrived in the mission, Sister Tarasevich found herself struggling to understand exactly what she could contribute. “My husband had immediately been given duties that provided him with challenging, growth-promoting leadership opportunities,” she says. “Though neither of us could speak Polish, his service seemed to transcend the language barriers.” On the other hand, she says, “I frequently struggled with feelings of uselessness and isolation. I doubted the meaningfulness of my missionary efforts.”
Sister Tarasevich found herself thinking about great missionaries in the Book of Mormon. “During many years as a Primary teacher, I had often drawn on the inspiring and motivating power of the stories of Alma and the sons of Mosiah to teach the children about missionary work. Whenever I thought of missionaries, the image of a strong and powerful Ammon popped into my mind, and I could easily envision the dynamic young missionaries of our mission as modern-day sons of Mosiah. But I wondered if it showed a lack of humility for a gray-haired grandmother to aspire to such a role.”
While she was thinking, she says, an inner voice began to question her gently.
“What was Ammon’s first assignment?”
“To be a servant, to tend the flocks, and to gather the scattered sheep,” she responded.
“Well then, be an Ammon.”
These thoughts provided Sister Tarasevich with insight. “Suddenly I understood exactly what the nature of my assignment should be,” she says. “I realized that while I hadn’t mastered the language skills needed to proselyte, years of Relief Society experience had prepared me to serve others—to seek out, find, and love those who felt forgotten and uninvolved.”
She began to view her missionary labors through new eyes. “I became aware of the many ways in which Christ-centered principles could overcome language deficiencies,” she says. “I began to see what I could do to tend the flock and gather the scattered sheep.”
After that, she says, “life as a senior missionary became a wonderful period of learning and service as we were privileged to see the gospel change and enrich the lives of those who embraced it.” She often felt like singing what she calls Ammon’s hymn: “Behold, my joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy, and I will rejoice in my God” (Alma 26:11).

The Hole-in-the-Rock expedition is only one of many examples of the dramatic determination and devotion of the early Saints to answer the call of their prophet when it came. Another example is the creation of and call to the Muddy Mission in present-day Nevada. As with so many early pioneer settlements, the Muddy promised a very hard life, and much soul-searching was done when the calls came to settle there.
Some of those called in the 1860s certainly must have asked, “Of all places on the earth, why the Muddy?” Well, there actually were reasons. First of all, the American Civil War had given rise to the possibility of shipping commodities via the Colorado River. Second, when the war interrupted traditional sources for textiles, the Cotton Mission had been established in the cities of St. George and Washington not too many miles away. It was assumed that cotton for that mission could be grown in the Muddy region. Third, the Latter-day Saints felt strongly their obligation to work with the Native American tribes in the region, helping to feed them and hoping to educate them.
But the region was nevertheless a lonely, barren wasteland. It seemed to have almost nothing to offer but heat and hard work. It was isolated and for the most part desolate, and the river that gave the mission its identity was aptly named.
As to how and with what faith and determination the Muddy was settled, I will let one of the settlers have her say. She represents the grit and spunk and moral conviction that both young and old had—in this case especially the young. Wrote Elizabeth Claridge McCune of her father’s call to settle the Muddy:
“No place on earth seemed so precious to me at fifteen years of age as [the town of] dear old Nephi [in Utah’s Juab County]. How eagerly we looked forward to the periodical visits of President Brigham Young and his company! …
“… Bro. Brigham, Bros. Kimball and Wells with [their] entire company got out of their carriages, and walked over the flowery road … to our homes, [where] dinner was prepared and served. …
“We all attended the [Sunday] afternoon meeting, the girls in white having reserved seats in front. The sermons were grand, and we were happy until President Young announced that he had a few names to read of men who were to be called and voted in as missionaries to go and settle … the ‘Muddy.’ This almost stilled the beating of the hearts of all present. Many of our people had been called to go to settle the Dixie country—but the Muddy, so many miles farther south! and so much worse! oh! oh! I did not hear another name except ‘Samuel Claridge.’ Then how I sobbed and cried, regardless of the fact that the tears were spoiling [my] new white dress. The father of the girl who sat next to me was also called. Said my companion, ‘Why, what are you crying about? It doesn’t make me cry. I know my father won’t go.’ ‘Well, there is the difference,’ said I. ‘I know that my father will go and that nothing could prevent him, and I should not own him as a father if he would not go when he is called.’ Then I broke down sobbing again. …
“As we had just moved into a new house and were fixed [so] comfortably, many of our friends tried to persuade father to keep his home and farm; to go south awhile and then come back. But father knew that this was not the kind of mission upon which he had been called. ‘I shall sell everything I own,’ said he, ‘and take my means to help build up another waste place in Zion.’”3

One time while going through the St. Louis (Missouri) railroad station, I met a minister at the servicemen’s canteen. He invited me into a small conference room so that we could talk. He asked me if I belonged to a church; I replied that I did not. He said that in my career in the armed service I would, no doubt, find myself in company that would not be the best for me, that there would be girls who would desire my association and that my friends might try to convince me that it would be stupid not to take shrewd advantage of these situations. But he said that remaining clean and chaste was not stupid—it was very wise; and that although there were many who thought the life of Jesus Christ was a weak and senseless way to live, their opinion did not make it so. He said that a clean life was to be highly prized and that when I married—as I surely would some day—I should be as morally clean and virtuous as I would expect my bride to be. Living a pure life might be difficult, but it would be well worth my efforts; for one thing, I would be better able to draw strength and courage to meet the challenge of demanding situations in the military. He also said it would be best for me to make my decision about this right then, while I could still view it with a detached perspective.
That encounter was very impressive to me. I knew that what he told me was true, but I did not realize at that time that I had made a decision to follow his counsel. Afterwards I faced many dangerous moral situations, but somehow I came through unscathed, as though someone were protecting me.

I would like to use my own family as an illustration of what I have in mind. Mother and I were filling a mission together over in Holland when we had a little girl born to us, and after we had been home a few years she passed away. When she was born, my wife has told me over and over again that she felt she saw an angel bring that spirit to her. And yet she is gone. Then I think of her four sisters. You voted here today to sustain one of them as a counselor in the general presidency of the Relief Society. Her other three sisters are just as noble and wonderful, although their talents may be just a little different.

When I think of this little one that we laid away when she was three-and-a-half years old, I thank God I have the faith to believe that God reigns in the heavens above and in the earth beneath and that this little one will ultimately enter into her glory and be equal to any of her four sisters who have tarried here upon this earth and raised their families. I thank God for the statement of the apostle Paul when he said that “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.” (1 Cor. 15:19.) In this brief period of mortality, it would not be possible for God to accomplish for all of his children all that he has in mind for them, the ones that are true and faithful.

I think of the statement of Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” (Moses 1:39.) I wonder sometimes if we ever stop to analyze that statement. I think we can understand what “to bring to pass immortality” is, that we will never die after we come forth in the resurrection, as President Romney pointed out this morning. But what about eternal life? As I interpret this, I find in it the feeling that all that God has ultimately planned for his children who are faithful and true shall come to them in his own due time.

We read in the Book of Mormon that we are not all born at the same time (and that doesn’t matter) and that we don’t all die at the same time. (See Alma 40:8.) I think of the words of Abraham when he saw the placing of the spirits here upon this earth, that the Lord would prove them to see if they would do all things whatsoever he had commanded them. Then he adds: “And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon.” (Abr. 3:26.) That was in the spirit life before we came to mortality. “They who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.” (Abr. 3:26.) This little girl of ours kept her second estate as far as she could at her age.

Then I think of the statement of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph Smith when he said: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught.” (D&C 3:1.) In other words, no one can stand in the way of God achieving what he has decreed for his children. Then a further statement in the Doctrine & Covenants where the Lord said: “His purposes fail not, neither are there any who can stay his hand. From eternity to eternity he is the same.” (D&C 76:3–4.)

Then there are the words of the Lord to the prophet Nephi when he said: “For my work is not yet finished; neither shall it be until the end of man, neither from that time henceforth and forever.” (2 Ne. 29:9.) Now that should enable us to comprehend and realize that there will never be a time when God will cease to do his work to bring to pass, as we read in the Pearl of Great Price, the glory that will be added upon their heads forever and ever.

Coming back to our family, we had four daughters before we got a boy and he grew into beautiful young manhood; we lost him in an accident down at the beach in California while I was the president of the stake there. He was just turning 16 and he stood as tall as his father, and to think now of his own brothers who are here: they have their families, and one of them has just been serving as one of the Regional Representatives of the Twelve. I can’t believe that boy will come out any less exalted in the eternities that are to come than his brothers who have lived here in mortality. When he died, the principal of the high school came to our home (and he was not a member of the Church) and told Sister Richards that our son was the best boy he had ever had in his school, and we felt that, too, as he grew into manhood.

Then I think of our little granddaughter who died at the same age; her father and mother are here today and her brothers and sisters. After just a few days of sickness, she passed away at the age of 16, a beautiful little woman. To think that God’s plan would not ultimately bring to her everything our other children received who tarried here in mortality would lessen my appreciation of my Father in heaven and the perfectness of his plan.

I think of the parable Jesus gave when he said:
“For which of you, intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counteth the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it?
“Lest haply, after he hath laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him.” (Luke 14:28–29.)
If God started to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man and did not provide an opportunity to complete the program, he would be like the builder who starts to build and then is not able to finish it.

Coming back, then, to the family, I think of my wife’s sister who died here a short time ago. She filled a mission for the Church; she worked in the auxiliaries and she was a noble character. But she never married, and I can’t believe that the Lord’s plan is imperfect, that she will not ultimately enjoy all that her sister (my wife) with our wonderful family has enjoyed. “His purposes fail not, neither are there any who can stay his hand.” (D&C 76:3.)

Sue Ellen sniffed the acrid smell of burning leaves and felt the wind blowing her curls. She looked up through the gold and red leaves still on the maple trees in her backyard and thought she’d never seen the sky so blue. Today was Saturday and she was restless. “Mom,” she asked, “what’ll I do?”
Her mother laughed. “Why, Sue Ellen, on a nice October day like this, I’d make a house of leaves.”
“Oh, Mom,” Sue Ellen said, “how can anyone do that?”
“It’s easy and lots of fun,” her mother said. “Get your little rake from the toolshed and rake up a big pile of leaves. Then when you get tired of jumping into them, let me know and I’ll show you how to make a house.”
Sue Ellen’s best friend Linda lived next door. She couldn’t think of anything to do either until she saw Sue Ellen raking an enormous pile of leaves.
“Can I help, Sue Ellen?” she called.
“Sure, Linda. After we make a big pile, Mother’s going to show me how to make a house of leaves.”
Soon their pile of leaves was higher than both of the girls.
“Let’s run and jump right in the middle!” Sue Ellen shouted.
“Let’s!” agreed Linda.
They ran and jumped plunk into the middle. When they got up, there were leaves in their hair, down their necks, in their shoes, and some were even sticking out of their ears. And they laughed and laughed. “How do you make a house of leaves?” Linda asked.
“I don’t know, but Mother will show us,” Sue Ellen replied.
Sue Ellen’s mother came out with the big rake. “Now then, how many rooms will your house have?” she asked.
Sue Ellen said, “We’ll want a kitchen so we can make gingerbread men and a dining room—”
“And we need a living room and two bedrooms, one for Sue Ellen and one for me,” Linda interjected.
Sue Ellen’s mother raked a square of leaves. Then she said, “We need a door to the porch and one to the dining room and lots of windows.” Then she raked away some of the leaves for the doors and windows.
“Oh, oh, I see!” cried Sue Ellen. “Come on, Linda, let’s make the rest of the rooms.” And soon they had a kitchen and a dining room and a living room and two bedrooms and a porch.
When their house was finished, Sue Ellen said, “Now we need some furniture for our house.”
“I know!” declared Linda, clapping her hands. “Let’s get our dolls and doll furniture and play house.”
After the girls had everything arranged, it was time for lunch and their nap. When their naps were over, Sue Ellen and Linda decided to make a different house. So they raked their leaves up into a pile again and made an even grander house.
About three o’clock Sue Ellen’s mother came out and said, “Knock, knock. May I come in?”
“Oh, Mrs. Anderson, how nice to see you,” Sue Ellen answered. “Do come in.”
“Please have a chair,” Linda said.
“Thank you, I will,” Mrs. Anderson replied. And she sat on a little pile of leaves in the living room.
“I came over to ask if you ladies would take tiffin with me.”
“Oh, yes, we’d love to!” they both answered, giggling.
“I have it all ready, and I thought we could have it at your house. I’ll be back in just a minute.” And faster than you can say one, two, three, she was back with a tray of hot chocolate and hot gingerbread men.
After they finished eating, and when Mrs. Anderson was leaving, she said, “What a lovely house you have!”
“We think so,” Sue Ellen and Linda answered. “Thank you very much for tiffin, and do come again tomorrow.”

During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place [and] was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. … He and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing anyone can do for this boy.”
“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “Willing and Worthy to Serve,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2012, 67, 68.

“I don’t want to give the prayer.” Austin stubbornly folded his arms across his chest and pushed both of his feet against the floor, as if he wanted them to grow roots and hold him there.
“It’s your turn,” Stacey told him.
“Everyone else has already done it,” Steven added.
Austin shook his head and looked down. No one could make him give the prayer, even if it was his turn.
“I’ll help you,” his Primary teacher, Sister Lee, offered. Austin looked up hopefully and almost smiled, but Steven’s next comment made him drop his gaze again.
“We’re too old to get help from the teacher.”
The other children nodded. But Sister Lee raised her hand to quiet them.
“Now, wait just a minute,” she said. “We’re never too old to ask for help.”
“Even to give the prayer?” Stacey asked.
Austin looked at her. Was it really that bad to ask for help with the prayer? He wondered what Sister Lee would say.
“We’re never too old to ask for help with anything,” Sister Lee replied. “How many of you need help taking the sacrament?”
Steven covered a snicker with his hand. Austin grinned at their teacher’s question.
“None of us do,” Stacey said.
“Let me tell you a story,” Sister Lee said with a twinkle in her eye. “When I was about your age, we used to have junior Sunday School on Sunday mornings, then we went home for lunch and returned to church later in the evening for sacrament meeting.”
“How weird!” Steven exclaimed, making a funny face.
“It does seem odd now, but then it was just the way we did things. During junior Sunday School, we took the sacrament. We sat in our classes instead of with our families.
“One day, I was sitting on the end of our row. When the deacon passed the sacrament to me, I looked up and realized how terribly big he was. I had never taken the sacrament tray from the deacon before. Usually I sat in the middle of my class, and one of the other children would pass it to me. I started to cry. I was very shy and afraid to take the sacrament from the deacon. Some of the children in the other classes noticed me crying and turned around to find out what was wrong. That just made everything worse. I was so embarrassed that I hid my face behind my teacher’s arm.”
“You were embarrassed to take the sacrament?” Austin asked.
“I was afraid of the big deacon,” Sister Lee explained. “My teacher thought I must not like the deacon, so she asked another one to come over and give me the sacrament. When I peeked out from behind her arm and saw another deacon, I cried harder.”
“Did you ever take the sacrament?” Steven asked.
“My teacher took it for me and held it in her hand until no one was watching. Then she quietly handed it to me. Each Sunday after that, she would always ask if I wanted her help.”
“You could have just asked her in the first place,” Stacey said.
“That’s right. Many times all we need to do is say, ‘Teacher, can you help me?’ And he or she will be right there to help you.”
“But we’re still too old to have help with prayers,” Steven insisted.
“Not really,” Sister Lee told him. “You would have thought I was old enough to take the sacrament without help, but you never know. That’s why we can never judge. Someone might seem able, but we don’t know what he or she is thinking.”
“Teachers like to help us,” Stacey observed.
“Even when we’re older,” Sister Lee agreed. “I’ve had teachers who worried about me, fussed over me, and prayed for me all my life. Even now, I have visiting teachers who do that. That’s just part of being a teacher; we’re here to help and we want to.”
Austin smiled at Sister Lee. “I want to say the prayer,” he told her. “I just can’t think of what to say. Teacher, can you help me?”
Sister Lee smiled and said, “Of course, Austin. I’d love to help.”

The New Era is a great asset to our work. We love it. As a missionary I always enjoy the stories about special missionaries who do great things. I would like to add to those stories one about a very special missionary whom I am honored to serve with. Last week the chain on my bike broke while we were on the way to an appointment. Since it was Sunday, there was no way of getting it fixed, so we caught a ride home. The next day we had an appointment all the way across town, so my companion, being the special missionary he is, towed me with all his might up and down all the hills in Vicksburg. I think that shows true dedication and pure love for me, his companion. That’s the type of missionary I’m always proud to serve with. Thanks, New Era, for all the help you give the servants of the Lord.
Elder Greg ChristoffersenMississippi Jackson Mission

When I was 20, the missionaries baptized my girlfriend and her family. The missionaries taught me, too. After I read the Book of Mormon, I received a testimony and was baptized. When I was 23, my girlfriend, Walkyria, and I were married. Several years later, we traveled to the Los Angeles California Temple to be sealed together. We couldn’t afford to take our children with us, so they were sealed to us when the first temple in Brazil, the São Paulo temple, opened.

I remember having a particularly difficult time at one point during my mission to Cleveland, Ohio. I wondered why I wasn’t seeing the same tangible success other missionaries in my area seemed to be having. My own weakness was foremost in my mind as I pondered the dilemma. I couldn’t help but think that I was doing something wrong, though I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I counseled with the Lord many times about the situation and also turned to the scriptures. One morning in my study of the Book of Mormon, I came across a verse that was the answer to my prayers and added strength to my testimony.
“Wherefore, I, Nephi, did strive to keep the commandments of the Lord, and I did exhort my brethren to faithfulness and diligence” (1 Nephi 17:15).
I had always thought of Nephi as a great prophet who never made any mistakes. I admired Nephi, but I felt I would never be as great as he was. However, when I read this verse written by Nephi, I realized that he was mortal and imperfect also. He didn’t write, “I, Nephi, kept all the commandments perfectly all the time.” Rather, he wrote that he “did strive to keep the commandments of the Lord.”
That simple verse touched me. Suddenly I realized that I am no different from Nephi or any other great prophet or missionary. We’ve been given the same commandments, and they will be judged on how well they improved their time on earth just as I will be. I don’t have to be perfect; I only have to strive to keep the commandments and do the very best I can with the abilities I have been given. In the end, when I come up short of perfection, it will be the Lord’s grace that will make up for the rest. Through this otherwise simple verse, I gained a greater testimony of the scriptures as communication from Heavenly Father.

One day a couple of my friends were fighting about a girl in my grade. They wanted her to like them.
I told them, “Enough, enough!” and pushed them apart. I didn’t want them to hurt each other or stop being friends.
I wasn’t afraid I’d get hurt, but when I separated them, they got mad. “What are you doing in the middle of this?” they asked. I told them to chill out because I wanted them to be friends and Jesus wants us to be kind to each other.
They made up and stopped fighting over the girl.

In the midst of this heavy competition, I should like to audaciously announce that Dick Davis and I are the champions—that is in our field. We are not the fastest, the longest, nor the strongest runners in the land, but I contend we are the most versatile.
Five years ago we looked at our physiques. Dick has the more traditional, chunky-jogger look, while I have what you might call a war refugee’s build. We decided that something—anything—must be done. Since our work in the entertainment business demands much travel, we have had to jog in some unusual places. In an effort to help those who feel they don’t have the time nor the proper place to jog, may we submit a sample of our record.
We have jogged: through the wheat fields of Saskatchewan and the rain forest near Olympia, Washington; over the Snake River in Idaho and along the Skunk River in Iowa; up and down the Capitol Records tower in Hollywood, and up and down the George Washington Monument; above the grape vineyards of Napa Valley, California, and through new snow in Cache Valley, Utah; along the Atlantic at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, along the Pacific at Santa Barbara and Vancouver, B.C.; through the hardwood forests near Nashville and the sagebrush around Las Vegas; along the Los Angeles storm canal system and around the Atlanta Civic Auditorium parking lot; around the high school track at Roseville, California, and down the railroad track near Ritzville, Washington; in Houston when it was 98 degrees, and in Calgary when it was 38 degrees below zero; in, near, around, or through the Montana prairies, the granite boulders near Silver City, New Mexico, the Czechoslovakian Embassy in Washington, the old western movie sets near Prescott, Arizona, and more freeway rest areas and public parks than we want to remember.
From this vast reserve of experience, we would like to offer some pieces of free advice that are worth every penny of it.
Start your jogging program slowly and build up gradually. The first day out, never do as much as you think you would like to. If you are over thirty, check with your doctor first. Come to think of it, if you’re over thirty, what are you reading this for anyway? You should be reading the Ensign.
People sometimes ask us: How do I get started jogging? One good way is to lean forward until you begin to fall on your face. Take a step to correct your balance. Keep leaning for a mile or so. Then either straighten the body and stop, or lean a little more and collapse on the ground, whichever seems appropriate.
The basic jogging form is head up, rib cage lifted, medium arm action, feet pointed forward. Most new joggers prefer rolling from heel to ball of the foot as it is easier on the calf muscle. Jogging should be easy and rhythmical. If you find yourself gasping for breath, clutching at your throat, staggering, turning gray, or inching along on all fours, cut back a little on your jogging program.
The sprint form is head erect, mouth open in large smile, arms agitated, feet barely touching the ground. This is used by new joggers their first morning out for approximately 25 yards.
The shuffle form is a good steady ground gainer used at the end of a five-mile run. It will get you there, but it wears out the toes on your shoes.
The pacer form is a sort of prancing gait, not unlike a show ring pony. Keep your head erect, chin tucked in, chest thrust out, knees pumping high, toes slightly pointed, jaw firmly set, but facial muscles giving the appearance of quiet control. This form is used mostly for passing girls of your own age coming the other direction on bicycles. With practice it can be sustained for bursts of 10 to 15 feet.
1. Pain in the side. Some joggers complain of a pain in the side. This is especially common among joggers who planned to jog past their girl friend’s house, and their mother said they had to take their little brother along. No medical cure known.
2. The blind staggers. This is a dizziness experienced from jumping up off the couch too fast and jogging out the door when your mother says, “Jim, did you cut the lawn yet?” Cure—cut the lawn yet.
3. Proper breathing while jogging. While jogging be sure to alternate breathing in and out, as too much of one or the other will cause discomfort.
4. Charley Horses in your calf muscles. This is mostly a rural ailment and hardly ever experienced any more since most people live in the cities.
5. Jogging in inclement weather. Track coach Stretch Scrimshaw said, “It don’t hurt nothin’ to run in inclement weather, but, however, I wouldn’t run in the rain. It gets your shoes all muddy.”
6. Shin Splints and Chill Blains. These were two of the most famous joggers in American history. They set out to jog from Baja, California, to Miami, Florida. Unfortunately, they forgot to consider the Gulf of Mexico.
7. Dogs. Dogs along your jogging route should not be considered a hindrance. They are an opportunity to develop your speed and endurance. Admittedly, dogs do present certain dangers. Dick is in danger of being bitten. I am in danger of being buried.
8. Jogging attire. This is a good idea, especially if the tire is hanging over your belt.
9. Palpitations of the heart. (See #1, “Jogging past girlfriend’s house.” Also no medical cure known.)
Happy jogging, and as the great baseball pitcher Satchel Page once said, “Don’t look back, something might be gaining on you.”

Soon after I graduated from Primary, the bishop called on me to bear my testimony during ward conference. In my talk, I mentioned that I liked the Book of Mormon stories that I knew. I also said that I wanted to read the Book of Mormon all the way through someday.
Someday came sooner than I expected. The day after ward conference, I didn’t feel well and was diagnosed with German measles. I had to lie in bed, so I decided to read the Book of Mormon. I read it from beginning to end in four days. That was a wonderful way to read the Book of Mormon because I gained a feeling for the entire book.