Gospel Story Finder

For the past three years the name of “Bob Gunther” had appeared on seminary rolls, yet no one had ever seen him at any Church meeting.
Just who is this Bob Gunther then? The seminary students from the San Lorenzo wards in California could tell you. At the beginning of each seminary year for the past few years, the students had signed the name of Bob Gunther to the roll as a joke. This joke led to what is now known as “The Bob Gunther Story.”
Early one Monday morning Neal Jarecki, a 16-year-old boy, was on his way to school. To Neal this was just another normal school day, but unknown to him, it was a day that would change the rest of his life. Neal was going to school early this particular morning to meet a girl he knew—Kim Spier, a Latter-day Saint.
When Neal arrived at school, he found Kim with a group of LDS girls studying in the library. He asked them why they were always at school so early, and they proceeded to tell him about seminary. Suddenly a voice from among the girls said, “We can get Neal to be Bob Gunther!”
Neal just stood there, not knowing what was happening, and said, “What?” The girls then told Neal that they would like him to play the part of the Bob Gunther, an imaginary person who had been enrolled in seminary for the last few years. After asking a few questions about what he would have to do at seminary, Neal finally agreed to be part of this joke. As the day went on, though, Neal began to have doubts about what he had agreed to do and wondered what he was getting himself into.
During the afternoon Neal received a phone call from Kim and Marlene from the seminary class, asking him if they could bring some Church books for him to read. He said yes, so at 5:30 P.M. Kim and Marlene visited Neal’s home to give him a half dozen pamphlets, a Book of Mormon, a Doctrine and Covenants, a Pearl of Great Price, Gospel Principles, and one volume of Church history. Neal was astounded, and he said, “I still have to do my homework this evening.”
He finished his homework as quickly as possible that evening. Then a thought flashed through his mind. “If I’m going to seminary tomorrow, the teacher is going to be suspicious, so I’ll need some proof of identification.” Neal hurriedly went over to the public library and purchased a library card with the official name “Robert Neal Gunther” printed on it. The rest of the evening Neal studied as much Mormon Literature as he possibly could. But he really didn’t absorb too much because there were too many facts going into his mind in such a short period of time.
Tuesday morning came early as Kim drove over to get Neal for seminary. Many students in the class knew Neal, so she told as many as possible before the teacher arrived that Neal was playing the part of Bob Gunther. Finally Neal was introduced to Brother Mike Danielson, the seminary teacher. But Brother Danielson didn’t believe he was Bob Gunther. He even laughed when he was shown the library card.
Now that the climax of the joke was over for Neal, it was just a matter of sitting through the class. And the lesson that day, from the book of Daniel in the Old Testament, really stimulated Neal’s interest. It ended with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego being cast into the fiery furnace under orders from King Nebuchadnezzar. Brother Danielson told them that the next day in class they would find out what happened to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Neal decided to come again the following day to find out what happened.
Early Wednesday morning Neal came to seminary like he said he would, and from then on, Neal went to seminary every morning. It wasn’t long before Neal was asked if he would like the missionaries to come to his home and teach him about the Church. He agreed, and on a Friday two elders taught him the first lesson. Approximately two weeks later, Neal was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Today Neal is an active priest and a strong member of the San Lorenzo Second Ward in California.
What started as a simple joke by a group of seminary students ended with a young man’s membership in the Savior’s true church. The non-existent “Bob Gunther” had developed into a fine missionary.

Illustration by Bradley Clark
I had been home from my mission for only three months when I began to struggle with reading the scriptures.
I had read the scriptures every day on my mission and promised to continue when I returned home. But as time passed, things just seemed to get in the way. I either had too much homework, was too busy working, or was just too tired. With each excuse, my scripture reading dwindled until I was hardly reading at all.
I opened the Book of Mormon one night and planned on reading just a verse. The verse I read reminded me that the scriptures contain “the pleasing word of God, yea, the word which healeth the wounded soul” (Jacob 2:8).
I pondered this verse and realized the negative effect neglecting scripture study was having on me. I felt more stressed at school, more apathetic at church, and more distanced from God. My soul needed the healing word of God found in the scriptures. I knew I needed to reorganize my priorities.
I turned to my friends, family, and Church leaders to ask for suggestions to rejuvenate my scripture study. I found three things to be helpful.
First, I realized that studying the scriptures at night was not effective for me. Studying in the morning allowed me to ponder throughout the day the doctrine and principles I had read that morning.
Second, we are taught to read scriptures with our families, but since I was at college and away from my family, I started reading scriptures with roommates and friends. This helped me stay accountable, and it sparked great gospel discussions.
Third, I started writing down promptings and thoughts I received during scripture study. This helped me focus on what I was reading and helped me better recognize the voice of the Spirit.
Once scripture study became a priority in my life again, I found that I had more time and energy to accomplish everything I needed to get done. Most important, I felt a closeness to God again as I read and pondered the scriptures. Now when I spend time in the scriptures, I feel peace and find healing for my soul.

A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

As a young man just nineteen years old, Joseph F. Smith was traveling from California to Utah with a small group of Latter-day Saints. As they set up camp one evening, a group of drunken men rode into their camp on horseback. The men had guns, and they threatened to kill any Mormons who came across their path. Some of the Saints hid in the bushes by the creek. Joseph F. Smith, who had been gathering wood, boldly approached the fire. One of the drunken men, pointing his pistol at Joseph, said that it was his duty to kill every Mormon he met. He then demanded, “Are you a ‘Mormon’?”

Without a pause, Joseph F. Smith looked the ruffian in the eye and answered, “Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.” The angry man was so surprised by Joseph’s honest answer that he grabbed Joseph’s hand and said, “Well, you are the … pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow. I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.” The drunken men then rode off and did not bother the Saints again. (Life of Joseph F. Smith, Joseph Fielding Smith, pages 188–189.)

Dene has two sets of proud grandparents in England who keep scrapbooks of his achievements and are always eager for news of his progress. His Grandfather and Grandmother Wood recently came to the states for a long vacation. They were able to see Dene play both football and soccer, and Dene was able to hear some stories of the old days again.

His granddad is both a cheerleader and a critic. “I’ve always believed in telling the truth,” he says. “When he deserves it, I praise him, and when he deserves it, I kick him in the pants.” It is a spring afternoon and Dene, his mother and father and grandmother and grandfather are sitting out on the front lawn. His grandfather smiles. “Wasn’t that a marvelous goal last night?” he asks. “Sometimes I tell him that he’s rubbish, but when he scores a goal like that, what more can you say? I’m proud of him, of course. He likes sports, and to me you can’t go wrong that way. A bit of sport and you’re on the right road. My daughter always writes to us in England and gives us an account of what he’s doing, and I share it with everybody. It gives me a tremendous amount of pleasure to see him excel.” He looks Dene over appraisingly and then adds, “He’s a fine looking lad, isn’t he?”

Dene goes into the house and proudly comes out with a treasured championship medal from his grandfather’s soccer days. As first grandson, he has received it as a birthright.

“I’ve always been proud of him,” his Grandmother Wood says. “He was our first grandson, and with me having three girls, it was really something that was delightful to have someone to carry on grandpa’s participation in sports. When Dene turned out to enjoy playing football, well of course it was just the thing. I knew grandpa would be delighted, which of course he was. I think sports give young men a good backing for life, a wider scope of give and take. If you’re a sportsman, you can both give it and take it, can’t you? And a team sport teaches you to play as a team and not be selfish. I’m proud of all my grandchildren.”

One day I decided to make a Christmas wish list because I was so excited about Christmas. I made a fancy title and used Santa Claus hats as bullet points.
My older brother came into the room to print off his list. I didn’t really care about his list because mine was going to be so fantastic. Mine had color and Santa Claus hats, and his was only black and white.
I wanted a lot of stuff: a pogo stick, pens, a puppy, a cat, etc. When I was done, I put my list on the fridge. My brother’s list was already hanging up. It said, “This year I would like to use half my Christmas money to give to others.”
I was amazed at what my brother was doing with his Christmas money. I couldn’t believe it. My brother who gets in fights with me a lot was giving instead of getting.
My Christmas list now seemed small and almost useless. Maybe I could do the same thing. I would be helping others, and I would feel good about myself. There’s a center near my home that helps children. I asked my mom if I could make some blankets for the kids there for Christmas. I hope I can give just like my brother.
I learned a lot more than I probably have ever learned about Christmas. Jesus Christ gave His life for us, so why should we not give to others in need? We don’t need all our wants. This year I will think more about Christ and what He did for us than I ever have. And I will focus on giving instead of getting.

The importance of this step is illustrated by a family of five who became converts to the Church. They had lived in a neighborhood where there were many Latter-day Saints, and they had learned much about the gospel. Then they had moved to a mission area, and a Mormon missionary invited them to church. In a short time they were baptized. Someone asked, “Why didn’t you join sooner?” The father answered, “No one ever before invited us to join or even to go to church.”

“Ship 3527 to mission control. We’re entering launch codes. Stand by.” Nathan’s four-inch-tall stuffed monkey couldn’t really talk, and he wasn’t really the copilot in a brigade of intergalactic star fighters, but as Nathan sat on a swing outside his elementary school on a warm Saturday afternoon with the monkey perched in his lap, he couldn’t help letting his imagination get carried away. He pictured his miniature copilot typing in a flurry of complicated formulas, preparing their ship to launch.
Nathan gripped the swing ropes and shuffled backward, careful not to let the monkey slip from his lap. He was now in ready position.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … we have ignition!” With an explosive whoosh, Nathan shot forward into motion. Pumping furiously, he propelled himself higher and higher, faster and faster, as he imagined the two of them soaring past the moon, past Mars, out of the solar system, out of the galaxy.
“Nathan! Come over here!” The voice of one of Nathan’s neighborhood pals brought him back to reality. “Look at this sand village I built! Do you want to help? We could make it huge!”
Nathan leaped from the swing and tossed his monkey onto a nearby bench so it wouldn’t get dirty. “OK,” he said. “I’ll start on the roads.”
The boys were just finishing the town when Nathan’s mom called out from a nearby bench, “Nathan, it’s time to go home.”
Nathan stood up, brushed the sand from his clothes, and headed toward Mom. They walked across the grass, down the street, around the corner, and into their front yard. Suddenly, Nathan gasped. “Oh no! My copilot!”
After a quick explanation to Mom, Nathan ran around the corner back to the school playground. Drawing close to the familiar bench, he was puzzled to find it bare. He checked under it, around it, and behind it, but there was no stuffed animal. Desperately, he scanned the area for any sign of his favorite toy, but all he could see were swings, slides, an abandoned city of sand, and a couple of kids playing catch with their dog. The monkey was gone.
Nathan carefully retraced his steps around the playground but couldn’t find the monkey anywhere. Losing hope, Nathan was about to give up the search when he remembered something his mom had told him about prayer: “If you ask the Lord for something that’s right, you’ll receive it.” He knelt on the ground and pleaded, “Heavenly Father, could you please help me find my monkey?” When the prayer was finished, he stood and thought for a moment. “I’ll just look one more time,” he decided.
He looked up and saw the children who had been playing with their dog walking by. He was about to walk right past them when a thought came to his mind: maybe they could help.
“Did either of you see a little stuffed monkey?” he asked them.
The kids looked at each other and laughed. “Yeah,” one of them said sheepishly. “We didn’t think it belonged to anyone, so we tossed it around and let our dog try to catch it.”
“I threw it too hard,” the other boy said, “and it landed on the roof of the school. I’m really sorry.”
Nathan couldn’t help grinning in relief. “It’s OK,” he said. “I’ll get it down. Thanks!”
Later, with the help of his parents, Nathan was able to get his monkey down from the roof. He realized how blessed he had been to meet those kids before they left, and how fortunate it was that he had thought to ask them about his toy. Without their help, the monkey would never have been found. He was grateful that his prayer had been answered.
Nathan tucked the monkey firmly into his pocket and radioed mission control. “This is ship 3527. Copilot recovered. We’re ready for launch once more.”
And with a nod from his parents, Nathan shot down the road toward home, happy to be back in the pilot’s seat with his favorite stuffed friend.

Now let’s look at two people who followed the Savior’s example of shining light. Recently my friend Kevin was seated next to a business executive at dinner. He worried what to talk about for two hours. Following a prompting, Kevin asked, “Tell me about your family. Where do they come from?”
The gentleman knew little about his heritage, so Kevin pulled out his phone, saying, “I have an app that connects people to their families. Let’s see what we can find.”
After a lengthy discussion, Kevin’s new friend asked, “Why is family so important to your church?”
Kevin answered simply, “We believe that we continue to live after we die. If we identify our ancestors and take their names to a sacred place called a temple, we can perform marriage ordinances that will keep our families together even after death.”
Kevin started with something he and his new friend had in common. He then found a way to witness of the Savior’s light and love.

“Why do I still remember my sins?” asked the woman who sat in my office. She was distraught, yet she had an earnest desire to understand.
At the time, I was serving as a mission president, and this sister had come to seek my counsel on a matter that had troubled her for some time.
She told me that years earlier, she had committed a serious sin. She had confessed to her appropriate priesthood leader and had followed counsel in seeking forgiveness from the Lord, the Church, and the individuals involved. She had changed her life and was now obeying the commandments. Still, the things she had done returned to her mind from time to time.
“The Lord has said that when we repent, we are forgiven,” she said, “and he remembers our sins no more. [See D&C 58:42.] But if I still remember my sins, that must mean I have not fully repented and that the Lord has not forgiven me. What more can I do? How will I ever know that the Lord has forgiven me?”
I asked her a few questions and became convinced that her attitude was one of repentance, obedience, and sincerity. Then I invited her to open the scriptures. Together, we read the Lord’s commands to forgive one another and to forgive all mankind. I told her that if we must forgive one another, we must also forgive ourselves.
She accepted the principle of forgiving others, but the idea of forgiving herself was still very difficult for her. Other scriptures brought similar responses. She was not comforted.
Next, we began to read about the principle of faith in Jesus Christ. Although I prayed silently that the Lord would direct our conversation, I was unaware that the Spirit would soon teach us with great impact. I felt prompted to turn to the Book of Mormon, to Alma chapter 36, which I was currently reading in my own personal scripture study.
I asked her to read aloud the words of Alma the Younger to his son Helaman: “And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world” (verse 17). The scripture sounded as if it were directed specifically to her! It was interesting to note that as Alma remembered his sins, he also remembered the Atonement.
She continued to read: “Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death” (verse 18). This sister’s cries were the same as Alma’s!
Then she read verse 19: “And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my [sins] no more.”
The words jumped off the page at me. She had read it wrong! The word was not sins.
I asked her to read the verse again. The Spirit whispered to me that she was about to receive an answer to the question that had caused her such anguish.
Without removing her eyes from the page, she silently reread the verse. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she came to a realization. Softly, with her voice difficult to control, she now read aloud: “And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more.” (Italics added.)
Her eyes were filled not with tears of anguish, but rather of joy, understanding, and acceptance.

A little more than two years ago, shortly after my parents divorced, I found the Church.
Growing up, my brothers, sister, and I were taught to believe in God, and we said prayers at dinnertime, but that had been the extent of my religious education. My mother was raised in the LDS Church, but my father was not. I guess over the years they found it easier to avoid religion than to quarrel over it.
I was the youngest and the baby of the family in more ways than one. My brothers and sister were much older and very protective. I believed everything would always be easy.
School was a rude awakening for me. In the early years I wasn’t required to do much work and my grades were pretty good. But, as the years went by, my grades began to drop, and it certainly was not easy. Consequently, my parents began getting calls from my teachers, and we entered the era of “What to do about Dane?”
My parents tried a variety of methods to get me to do my assignments, but nothing worked. Teachers, counselors, school administrators, and my parents, all threatened a whole array of punishments. But my situation worsened with each year of school, and by the time I was in seventh grade, everything was falling apart. I hadn’t done much in class except goof around for six years, so I was totally unprepared for junior high.
The year I entered junior high was also the year our family fell apart. Two weeks after Christmas my parents separated, and later they divorced. My two oldest brothers and my sister had graduated and moved out on their own. That left my brother Lee and me at home with our mother, and Lee was a senior in high school. To make matters worse, we had big financial problems. From my mother’s perspective, we had hit rock bottom. But that’s when I think things began to look up.
One day my mom sat me down, and we had a serious talk. We talked about her upbringing in the Church, and she said that even though it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, she knew she could turn to God for help. She also said she believed that if I went to church, it might turn me around in school. I had attended church a few times with an LDS friend, and I had also attended summertime Bible schools at other churches, but my family had not been to church since before I was born. My parents both smoked, and the coffeepot was always on. And now, my mom was suffering because of the divorce and the loss of income. I didn’t want to add to her problems, so I decided to give church a try and to have the missionary lessons.
Before I joined the Church, I had experimented with cigarettes and alcohol, and I hung around with the kids I felt most comfortable with—the kids who weren’t passing in school and who were with me so often in detention. But when the bishop interviewed me and I made the commitment to get baptized, I made a promise to obey the Word of Wisdom. I found that I enjoyed the feeling of responsibility that came with holding the priesthood, passing the sacrament, and getting praise for the things I was doing instead of always being in trouble. These positive feelings I was experiencing started to influence my life outside of church. And, as I shared my testimony with my friends, I started to see who my true friends were.
I made it to eighth grade and served in the Church as a deacons quorum president and now as teachers quorum president. I haven’t quite made the honor roll yet, but I’m on the school’s academic team and have stayed eligible to play sports. I’ve tried to remain friends with the guys I used to hang around with, but I don’t go out with them much anymore. We’re still on good terms, but we have different interests now. I’m involved in Scouting and have been concentrating on my schoolwork.

Knowing how to organize a service project, plan a youth conference, or work with the service and activities committee isn’t going to be a problem for the youths of the Pleasant Hill Ward, Walnut Creek California Stake. A day-long leadership conference for class presidencies, advisers, and the ward bishopric was held recently beneath beautiful redwood trees in the Oakland Hills.
Stress was placed in four areas: conducting meetings, delegating responsibilities and then following up, working with advisers, and understanding the purpose of the service and activities committee. Those leading the workshops made it clear that they were there to guide and encourage but not to lecture.
After discussing basics, the participants divided into small groups to practice delegating responsibilities for a sample party. They were “criticized” by their group, received a “second chance,” and “phoned” for follow-through experience. In addition, youths and adults practiced agenda writing and planned the calendar of activities for the coming year.
But it wasn’t all work. Following the workshops time was set aside for softball, volleyball, and horseshoes. The day concluded with inspirational talks by ward and stake leaders together with testimonies from those participating in the conference.

“Sanford, what happened to you?” my little sister, Nadine, gasped as I slipped in the back door with my friend Chris. “You look sick! Your face is all bloody, and it’s on your shirt, too!” she jabbered. “Did you fall off your bike?”
“No,” I growled quickly. “Just keep quiet.” Usually I’m not so gruff with her. Even though I’m ten and she’s only six, we’re great friends. I even let her hang around when my other friends come by. There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do for me. And if I ever need someone to talk to, Nadine is there for me.
She hung her head, poked out her lower lip, and hunched her shoulders. She looked like she was about to bawl, so I put my hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Nadine. I just don’t want Mom seeing me like this. Will you do me a favor?” She looked up, her face brightening. “I need a wet washcloth. Bring it out back. Please.”
Nadine bounced away and got it, then met Chris and me on the back lawn. While I cleaned up, she demanded, “Now tell me what happened.”
“Ronny started a fight!” Chris burst out.
“A fight? Mom and Dad don’t like you fighting, Sanford. You know that. And in Primary—”
“Shhhh,” I hissed, glaring at Chris for spilling the beans. “It wasn’t my fault,” I explained. “Ronny started it. We were playing football, and he rode in on his bike and said we had to let him play.”
“Why didn’t you let him play?”
“Because we’d already picked teams. It was too late to let him in.”
“So he started pushing Sanford around,” Chris took over. “But Sanford didn’t take any of his garbage!” he added smugly. “If Ronny hadn’t landed that one lucky punch on your nose,” he said to me, “that fight wouldn’t have even been close.”
“You were fighting, Sanford?” Nadine asked again. Even without looking at her, I could feel her disappointment. She was always crushed if I did anything wrong.
“Sometimes you just have to fight, Nadine.”
“I don’t like you fighting,” Nadine muttered sadly. She took the washcloth to the laundry room.
I didn’t think much more about my fight with Ronny. But for the next few days Nadine kept asking about my nose and wondering if I’d had any more trouble with him.
“I haven’t even seen him since that day,” I told her. “Just forget the whole thing.”
A few days later, Nadine and I were sitting on the front steps after dinner, eating ice-cream bars, when the bishop dropped by to see Dad. When he saw us, he smiled and shook our hands. Then he said, “Well, Sanford, I need to see you too. I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Sure, Bishop,” I said, pleased.
“A new family has moved into our ward. They have a child about your age who needs a good, friendly welcome. Their son, Ronny, should be going to Webelos. I thought you could invite him to go with you.”
“Ronny? He isn’t new. He’s been in town a couple of years.”
“But his family just recently moved into our ward,” the bishop explained, “and he says that he won’t go to Webelos because he doesn’t have any friends in this ward.”
“Sure he’ll do it,” Nadine spoke up unexpectedly. “Just last week in home evening, we learned that we should do whatever the bishop asks us to do.”
I was so surprised that I didn’t even have a chance to protest. And Dad came out right then and invited the bishop into the house.
“Why’d you tell him I’d invite Ronny to Webelos?” I growled at Nadine. “Ronny can’t stand me. And I don’t particularly like him, either.”
Nadine got that sad, droopy-eyed look. “I was just trying to help.”
“How’s that helping? Now the bishop thinks I’m going to be Ronny’s friend.”
“I guess that’s what you’ll have to do, then.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know Ronny. If I went over to his house to invite him anyplace, he’d punch me in the nose again.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to be his friend first.”
“I’m not going to do it!” I burst out, standing up. “And you shouldn’t have told the bishop that I would.”
But that evening when we kneeled for family prayer, Nadine asked Dad if she could say it. “And please, Heavenly Father, help Sanford be friends with Ronny so he can invite him to Webelos,” she prayed sincerely.
That night before going to bed, when she said her own prayer, she prayed for the same thing, she told me. In fact, every time she said a prayer, even if it was the blessing on the food, she asked Heavenly Father to help me be friends with Ronny.
“You’ve got to stop praying for me,” I grumbled to Nadine a few days later. “I’m not going to invite Ronny anyplace. No one at Webelos even likes him. No one wants him there.”
“No one?” she asked, surprised.
“Name someone, besides the bishop, who wants Ronny to go to Webelos.”
Nadine didn’t even wait to think about it. “Jesus wants him to go. And Jesus wants you to invite him. That’s why I pray for you.”
“Jesus doesn’t count,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty.
“Of course, He counts. He’s the one who counts most of all.”
It was no use arguing with Nadine. I saw Ronny a few times as he rode his bike down the street. Twice he watched from a distance as we played football in the park, but he didn’t come around again. Every time I saw him, I thought of the bishop and Nadine and Jesus Christ. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. “All right, I’m going to invite Ronny,” I told Nadine one afternoon.
A huge grin crinkled her eyes and scrunched up her nose. “I just knew you would!”
“I’ll walk over there and say, ‘Ronny, you’re invited to Webelos.’ Then I’m going to turn around and leave. I hope I don’t get in a fight doing it.”
Nadine’s happy smile sagged. “Well, that won’t do any good,” she pointed out. “Just because you invite him doesn’t mean he’ll go. Maybe he will get in a fight with you, if you invite him like that.”
“What do you expect me to do?” I asked. “The bishop just said to invite him.”
Nadine hung her head. “I want you to do what Jesus would do,” she answered sadly. “Is that how Jesus would invite him?”
“I’m not like Jesus,” I said. “Do you think He would have gotten in a fight with Ronny in the first place?”
Slowly she shook her head. “But if He had,” she said, looking up, “He’d have said He was sorry. And after Jesus had said He was sorry and become friends with Ronny, He’d invite him to Webelos. Jesus did lots of things that were hard—harder than saying ‘I’m sorry’ to Ronny.”
I could never win with Nadine. I was older and thought I was lots smarter than she was, but when it came to things like this, she won the argument every time. “I’m not talking to you anymore,” I grumbled. “You just don’t understand.”
“I’m going to keep praying for you, Sanford,” she said sadly.
“I’ve already told you, I don’t want you to pray for me.”
“Maybe if you’d pray for yourself, I wouldn’t have to.”
I didn’t let her know it, but those words hurt. She was right. I didn’t want to pray for help. If I did, it would show that I’d made up my mind to go. And I was too afraid to go! At least I was until that night, when I knelt down to pray. I wasn’t planning to pray about Ronny, but as soon as my knees hit the floor, I thought about him, and I knew that if I was going to say a prayer that meant something, I’d have to pray for Ronny and me.
The next morning after breakfast I told Nadine, “Well, I’m going over to Ronny’s place. I hope he doesn’t punch me in the nose.”
“I’ll go with you.”
I shook my head, smiling. “You don’t have to. I won’t chicken out.”
“Well, you don’t think I’m going to let Ronny hit you again, do you? Jesus wouldn’t want that, either. Besides, I got you into this, so I’m coming. We can both be friends with him.”
We walked the three blocks to Ronny’s place. He was in the front yard, putting decals on his bike when we went up his driveway. He stiffened when he saw me. Nadine whispered, “You can do it, Sanford, just like Jesus wants you to.”
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I burst out, holding my hand out to him. “Ever since we fought, I haven’t felt right.” I fidgeted uneasily. “It was my fault.”
Ronny stared at me. I think he was trying to figure out if I was really serious.
“Sanford doesn’t usually fight,” Nadine spoke up. “And he wishes he hadn’t fought you. And so do I.”
Ronny just kept staring at us like we’d stepped out of a spaceship or something.
“We’re going to be playing over at the park this afternoon.” I told him. “I’d sure like you to be there. You can play on my team. There’s no sense in us not being friends.” I licked my lips. “You want some help putting on your decals?”
Ronny didn’t really answer. He just sort of shrugged his shoulders. Nadine took that for a yes, and before we knew it, the three of us were kneeling around Ronny’s bike, putting on decals and talking.
“You didn’t invite him to Webelos,” Nadine pointed out later as we went home.
I laughed. “Don’t worry—I will. That’s the easy part. I can do that now. Thanks to you.”

Margarette and her older brother, Wallace, were walking to school. Rain had made the ground very muddy. The children got stuck in the mud and could not move. They began to cry.
They looked up and saw the Prophet Joseph Smith coming toward them. He lifted both children out of the mud. Then he stooped and cleaned the mud from their shoes.
The Prophet Joseph Smith wiped the tears from their faces with his handkerchief. He spoke kind and cheering words to them.
Margarette and Wallace went on their way to school, rejoicing.

I witnessed a simple example of this kind of prayer when Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and I were assigned to conduct a videoconference interview of a couple in another country. Shortly before going into the studio, I reviewed once again the information we had collected about the couple and felt I was prepared for the interview. A few minutes before the appointed time, I saw Elder Oaks sitting alone with head bowed. In a moment he raised his head and said, “I was just finishing my prayer in preparation for this interview. We will need the gift of discernment.” He had not neglected the most important preparation, a prayer to consecrate our performance for our good and the Lord’s glory.

Joseph Sr. preceded Lucy and the children to Palmyra. By the time the family was reunited, their ready money had been reduced to a few cents. But that arrival showed two important traits of the family. First was their unconcealed joy at being reunited. Lucy wrote that she felt joy “in throwing myself and my children upon the care and affection of a tender husband and father” and witnessing the children “surround their father, clinging to his neck and covering his face with tears and kisses that were heartily reciprocated by him.” And second was a united approach to solving their problems. Lucy said, “We all now sat down and maturely counseled together as to what course it was best to take [and] how we should proceed to business.” Joseph Sr., Alvin, and Hyrum worked to pay for land. To maintain home and to replenish provisions, Lucy, aided by Sophronia and the younger children, took care of household chores and sold Lucy’s oilcloth art. They also made baked goods and root beer, which young Joseph sold in the village from a homemade handcart.
The family’s united effort greatly improved their material circumstances. Two years after arriving in Palmyra as “strangers, destitute of friends, home, or employment,” Lucy wrote, “we were able to settle ourselves upon our own land [in] a snug, comfortable, though humble habitation, built and neatly furnished by our own industry.”

Sister Whang’s work in the camps led her to change her career from nursing to teaching. But after six years, in November 1958, she decided that if she wanted to fulfill her goal to help the poor, she needed more education. Her minister encouraged her to apply for an exchange program at the University of California at Berkeley. She was accepted. Taking the money she had saved from teaching and the promise of a paid sabbatical from her school, she enrolled.
Soon after she arrived in the U.S., Whang Keun-Ok met two Korean students from Brigham Young University who were working at Berkeley for the summer. They encouraged her to go to Provo, Utah. When she visited the BYU campus in the fall of 1959, she fell in love with the mountains and was impressed by the Latter-day Saints’ faith. She spent the next three years there, studying social work. Shortly after she returned to Korea in June 1962, she located the missionaries and was baptized.

Game night is going to be epic! Sam will never know what hit him! I’ve been practicing!
Sam, are you OK? You don’t usually use words like that?
Losing just makes me so mad sometimes!
I know. We’ve been friends a long time.
That’s how I know you don’t normally talk like that. I don’t think it’s the real you, you know?
You’re right. Thanks for looking out for me.
Anytime! But I’m still gonna cream you in this game!

I used to be very afraid of scary shadows that looked like monsters. I was afraid to stay by myself in my room or in the basement. I fasted and prayed many times. My dad gave me blessings to be courageous and faithful. I remembered the Primary song “Nephi’s Courage” that says: “I will go; I will do the thing the Lord commands.” So with my family’s help I decided to show my faith and face my fears. I went to the basement by myself. Then I went in my room by myself. I felt confident and faithful. My testimony is that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. He helped me to overcome my fears.Sebastian B., age 8, Alberta, Canada

The second point about the net that holds true for our sisterhood is that it didn’t happen accidentally or spontaneously. It took work. My father made this net with his own hands. He bought the hard-twist, double-ply twine at our local general store. Then he spent many hours in the evenings after work and on weekends patiently working. He started with this square right here where it would become the middle of the net. Then he worked outward in a circle, patiently knotting these other squares of a size that he could just get his thumb through. At every corner, he made a square knot so that each square of the mesh was solid and strong. If one strand caught on a rock or ripped through because it was weak, the squares next to it would not unravel. They would hold strong and firm.

And every time my father used this net, he took care of it. When he got home, he would rinse it thoroughly in fresh water so that the salt water would not weaken and eat through the fibers. Then he would hang it on the fence, shaking out the folds carefully so that it would dry quickly and evenly. When it was dry, before he folded it up and put it away, he went over the net minutely, inspecting the mesh. If a knot seemed to be loosening or if a string was frayed, he repaired it immediately, before it became serious. A net like this would last for many years. It would stay strong because he always took care of it.