Gospel Story Finder

I hope each young man who has been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood is given a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling, as well as opportunities to magnify that calling. I received such an opportunity as a deacon when the bishopric asked that I take the sacrament to a shut-in who lived about a mile from our chapel. That special Sunday morning, as I knocked on Brother Wright’s door and heard his feeble voice call, “Come in,” I entered not only his humble cottage but also a room filled with the Spirit of the Lord. I approached Brother Wright’s bedside and carefully placed a piece of the bread to his lips. I then held the cup of water, that he might drink. As I departed, I saw tears in his eyes as he said, “God bless you, my boy.” And God did bless me—with an appreciation for the sacred emblems of the sacrament and for the priesthood which I held.

As a teenager, I had a bad attitude. One day, I came home from seventh grade, slammed my books on the table, and began my habitual rant about the mounds of unfair homework, friends that ditched me, girls that ignored me, and the injustice of being shorter than not just the seventh graders but most of the fifth graders.
My mom unsympathetically put down her iron and replied to my complaints: “You know Blake, you can’t always choose your circumstances, but you can choose your attitude. And by the way, you have a list of chores you need to do before dinner.”
My mom’s words settled deep. I am not sure why, but it is as if it were the first time I had entertained the notion that I did have some control over situations that in the past left me feeling like a victim, powerless over my destiny. It was empowering.
I suddenly understood obstacles were here to stay but my attitude and how I reacted was 100 percent mine. Mom was right and at that moment I had what the Savior refers to as a change of heart.

Listen to the words of a beautiful woman who gained this awareness as she struggled with her own self-worth and understanding of who she was:
As a convert, the hymn “God Loved Us, So He Sent His Son” was sung at the very first sacrament meeting I attended as a brand-new member of the Church. For the first 18 years of my life I struggled with my worth and with who I was and what my importance was to anyone. I had been told I was the ugliest girl in my school, and I carried that label with me for many years. As I took the missionary discussions, I learned enough of the gospel plan to know it was true and right. At my first sacrament meeting when the third verse of that hymn was sung, I knew in that moment for the first time who I really was and what my importance was. That moment changed everything for me. Nothing on the outside changed, but everything on the inside did. I was part of His plan, His offering. And I hold a place within His Heart. [Personal communication]

When my children were small, they liked to play games after family home evening. One of their favorites, “Trunky the Elephant,” was named after a song our daughter, Jocelyn, learned in school. After we all sang the song, I would be Trunky and give the children rides on my back. First, my two-year-old son, Jorge; then, my four-year-old daughter, Jocelyn; and finally my wife, Elizabeth, would climb on. With all three on my back, I would take them on a ride around the living room. We had a lot of fun.
Years later, my grown children were both waiting for their mission calls. During one family home evening, they remembered “Trunky the Elephant.” We sang the song together; then, after a hiatus of many years, I again became the elephant. First my son, then my daughter, and finally their mother climbed on my back. I ended up flat on the floor, and we all ended up laughing.
The memory of that moment makes us grateful that the prophets have taught us about family home evening. We learned that no matter how simple our family home evenings may be, the most important thing is that we have happy times with our families, times that strengthen our eternal ties.
Víctor G. Chauca Rivera

In the fall of 1935 Amelia took a position with Purdue University as counselor in careers for women. The young people loved her and she became the idol of the campus.
Purdue honored Amelia with a variety of special gifts, including a Lockheed Electra, a plane that would seat ten passengers.
“I’m so overwhelmed with all this,” Amelia exclaimed. “It doesn’t seem possible! I’ll have to repay you for all of these gifts.”
Amelia soon decided that the logical way to repay everyone was to make a truly spectacular flight. She began making plans to fly completely around the globe, following an equatorial route. By March of 1937 all was ready. Amelia took off with Captain Manning as navigator. But trouble with the landing gear sent the Lockheed Electra back to California for repairs after the second stop. When the plane was repaired, Amelia and a different navigator, Fred Noonan, flew across the continent to Miami, Florida. Meeting with reporters, she said, “I have a feeling that there is just about one more good flight left in my system, and I hope this is it. After it is over, I plan to give up major long-distance flights.”
At about six o’clock on the morning of June 1, 1937, Amelia climbed into the Electra at Miami Airport. The plane zoomed across South America, over Africa, and on over Asia. Amelia and Noonan were eagerly welcomed everywhere they landed.
Setting down at Lae, New Guinea, Amelia and Noonan prepared for their final long flight. Their route was to take them to Howland Island, twenty-five hundred miles away in the Pacific, back to Honolulu, and then on to California. America was planning a gala homecoming.
The first few hours after takeoff from Lae were ideal. Then trouble began. It seemed as though nature threw all her obstacles at the two fliers—rains, fogs, and squalls pelted the aircraft.
Then, when the Lockheed should have been close to Howland Island, the Coast Guard picked up Amelia’s frantic message. “Cannot hear you. … Please take a bearing on us and answer. …” The small aircraft was having radio trouble and could not hear the Coast Guard. A final message came. “Circling … cannot see island. … Gas is running low … running north and south. …”
Then silence.
A nation mourned the loss of a brave lady and her copilot whose watery grave and its location still remain a mystery. But Amelia would have chuckled at the numerous earthbound monuments built in her honor since her disappearance. For her true monument is the sky.

Nine times seven is sixty-three. Six times eight is … forty-two? No, that’s not right!
Luca furiously erased his answer.
“Time!” Luca’s teacher called. “Everyone pass in your tests.”
Oh no! Luca thought. But I’m not even done!
Luca sighed as he handed in his test. He had to get a 90 percent on his timed tests to pass his multiplication tables and become a class Multiplication Master. But he just didn’t know how he was going to do it!
That night during family scripture study, Dad read from the Doctrine and Covenants: “Therefore, if you will ask of me you shall receive; if you will knock it shall be opened unto you” (D&C 6:5).
Luca’s head popped up. That was the answer! Prayer!
Luca started praying every day to do well on his timed multiplication test. This would work. It had to work. He would finally become a Multiplication Master!
On Tuesday, Luca came home from school and grabbed his basketball.
“Do you need help studying?” Mom asked.
“Nope! I’ve got it taken care of!” Luca said as he ran out the door. He believed so much in prayer that he didn’t even take out his flash cards to practice his math.
On Friday, Luca knew he was going to pass the test. But when he sat down to take it, the answers just didn’t come, and he did even worse than before!
Luca walked home from the bus stop with his head down. He had prayed so hard to be a Multiplication Master. Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer his prayer?
When he got home, he shot baskets until Dad came home from work. Dad honked the car horn as he pulled up.
“How was school?” Dad asked, walking over.
“Not very good,” Luca said, looking down. “I can’t pass my multiplication test.”
“That sounds pretty discouraging,” said Dad. He held up his hands for a pass.
“I should have passed!” Luca said. “I prayed and everything. Dad, you said that Heavenly Father answers prayers. He definitely didn’t answer mine today!”
“Did you practice with your flash cards?” Dad asked.
“No.”
“Did you study?”
“No,” said Luca. “But I prayed all week!”
Dad dribbled the ball and looked at Luca. “Well, multiplication is kind of like basketball. How did you get so good at basketball?”
“I practiced,” said Luca.
“Yes, and so when we pray for Heavenly Father to help you before your games, we’re not praying for Him to magically make you a better basketball player. What do we pray for?”
“For me to remember what I practiced,” Luca said.
“Right. Prayer works best when we do our part and also ask Heavenly Father to help us.”
“So my part is studying my flash cards?” Luca asked.
“Exactly,” said Dad, passing the ball back to Luca.
Luca heaved a big sigh and took a shot. The ball bounced off the rim. “So … I should study hard and ask Heavenly Father to help me.”
“There you go!” said Dad. “Now, are you ready for a little one-on-one?”
Luca grinned and stole the ball from Dad. “Sure! As long as you help me study at the same time.”
“You’re on,” said Dad. “Six times five is?”
“Thirty!” Luca took another shot. This time it swished through the hoop.
Between practice and prayer, maybe he would become a Multiplication Master after all.

My family and I were driving home from my grandparents’ house after Christmas. The roads were very icy. Our minivan got stuck going up a hill. My dad got out of the van and tried to push it up the icy hill, but it wouldn’t move. We were stuck. I said a prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help us. My dad got back out of the van and pushed again, and we went up the hill! Heavenly Father does answer our prayers, and He loves us.
Andrew B., age 7, Wisconsin, USA

The love of Jesus Christ was the answer I received when a close friend told me she was stepping away from the Church. Prior to this decision, she had shared her sincere questions with me, asking for my opinions and confiding in me about the hurt she was feeling. Her pain was real, her questions were heartfelt, and I felt honored to be a listening ear. However, the thoughts I shared often didn’t seem to reach her.
I would leave our conversations feeling unsure of how to support her. During one conversation in particular, she asked me a sincere question about something I had personally been feeling uncertain about and then called my bluff when I struggled to know how to respond. I remember her saying, “Em, you don’t really believe that. I know you don’t.”
She was right.
After that interaction, I felt myself drifting away from the friendship. I was uncomfortable discussing spiritual matters with her and felt frustrated by our differences in belief and my own lack of perfect answers. I felt hopeless. I slowly stopped asking her about her gospel questions out of fear of not having the answers. I started to think that we were too different to be friends.
It took a few months before I realized that in seeking answers to her (and my) questions, I had lost sight of the most important answer: God so loved the world—God so loves my friend.
In his October 2020 general conference address, President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, reminded us, “The Savior’s teaching to love [one another] is based on the reality that all mortals are beloved children of God.” He ended his message with a reminder about the perspective that this knowledge provides: “Knowing that we are all children of God gives us a divine vision of the worth of all others.”1
Those words struck me. Of course, this teaching is a fundamental truth. However, I realized that in my response to my friend’s transition away from the Church, I had set this truth aside.
Knowing that my friend—regardless of our differences in belief—is a beloved child of God changed everything for me.
Months had gone by with me feeling very distant from my friend, but I immediately called her after my realization, and I shared God’s love with her. I was able to explain why I had distanced myself from her. I articulated why it hurt to feel like something so precious to me wasn’t treated with respect. Fortunately, she was understanding, and we both apologized. We talked about how important our friendship was and how our similarities were stronger than our differences. I told her that I wanted to meet her where she was while maintaining my standards and faith, and that I hoped we could continue supporting each other. I was so grateful when she agreed.

When Calvin started stuttering just asking for the salt and pepper, I knew something was wrong. Calvin had always had trouble talking. It was cute when he was two or three years old, and endearing when he was five or six. But by the time he was seven or eight and still stuttering, Mom took him to a speech clinic. After that the problem seemed to clear up, except for certain times when Calvin was upset about something.
Calvin is my older brother, and I can tell when he’s scared about something—partly because of the stuttering but also because of little things that he says or does.
He was worried about becoming a priest and blessing the sacrament. It isn’t that he didn’t want to bless the sacrament—he did. That was the whole problem. Calvin takes things like that very seriously. He didn’t want anybody, especially the deacons on the front bench, to have an excuse for giggling during that scared ordinance, even if they were only laughing at the way that Calvin said the prayer.
Calvin reads a lot, and I guess that’s where he got the idea of using marbles. Some Greek man by the name of Demosthenes used to recite aloud while climbing steep hills or put rocks in his mouth and then shout speeches over the roar of the ocean waves so that he could talk more clearly. I thought it was a silly thing to do when Calvin told me about it—he might swallow the rocks or something—but Calvin was desperate, I guess. He knew Morn would be angry if she ever caught him putting rocks in his mouth, so marbles were the closest substitute he could think of.
I collect marbles. I can’t do much with them, but I like to look at the different colors and what light can do when it shines through them. Calvin came downstairs to my room one day and stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching me. My brother has a way of standing sometimes that tells me he has something on his mind, and he was standing that way then. A tall young man, maybe too skinny, with very short, very blond hair. Calvin likes to play ball in the summer and hair gets in his way. There was a strange look on his face while he watched me. I was sitting on my bed, and I had all my marbles spread out in front of me. They looked gorgeous.
“Jenny,” he said finally. I looked up and waited. “Would you sell me five or six of your marbles?” That’s when he turned red—a complete betrayal. My brother always turns red when he talks about something important to him. The speech therapist says that it’s part of the same problem that made Calvin stutter and that it would go away in time. So far that part hadn’t come true.
Then Calvin seemed to change his mind and said, “It’s not important.”
I scooped up a red marble and held it up to the light so that I could see the bubbles inside. “If it isn’t important,” I asked, “then why buy them?”
He didn’t say anything, and I knew that if he tried to talk, the words would come out in a long stream of stuttering. He looked at me though, and there was agony in that expression. Then he turned around and walked out of my room.
Later, of course, I gave some marbles to him. What else could I do? I washed six of them, dried them off, and put them in a box. Then I put the box on his bed. When he came to the supper table, I said, “There’s something for you on your bed, Calvin.”
He didn’t say anything then either, but I could see what was in his eyes.
I didn’t hear anything more about the marbles for a long time. Calvin is very cautious when he doesn’t want people to know about something. But his birthday was coming closer every day. And each Sunday when the sacrament was being prepared, I would find myself looking at my brother. He would be scrunched down in his seat, and I could imagine what he was thinking. Sometimes while the prayer was being said, I almost forgot to close my eyes. He’d listen so intently that it seemed he was listening hard enough for both of us.
The thing that I dreaded was when someone made a mistake in repeating the sacrament prayer. When it happened I looked at Calvin, and I could see him hurting inside, waiting for the time when he would have to kneel and say the prayer. He had such a strong feeling for that prayer that he wanted it to be perfect. It really mattered to him and I knew it!
One day I went downstairs and I could hear mumbling, so I began looking for the source. It was coming from the laundry room. I turned out the downstairs light, walked over to the laundry room door as quietly as I could, and opened it. Calvin was standing by the washing machine with my marbles in his mouth. He was saying something, though I couldn’t understand the words through all the marbles.
I stood there for a long time. But I didn’t want Calvin to know that I had seen him, so I turned around and went out. Then I came back into the room a second time as noisily as I could, on the pretense of getting some soap. The mumbling sound stopped immediately. Calvin nodded and I went out again and up to my room. In a few minutes I heard him come upstairs.
Several weeks later it was Calvin’s birthday. The Sunday after, he was ordained a priest and assigned to give one of the sacrament prayers.
I can still remember sitting there, staring at him and seeing how the light hit his blond hair, making it shine. Boys aren’t supposed to be beautiful—or at least, you’re not supposed to admit that they are—but Calvin was beautiful. I was so scared for him that I thought my heart would stop beating. I was sure his agony was going to make me cry.
Suddenly he looked straight at me, and there was in his eyes an expression that made me know that he knew that he would be all right. Then he got down on his knees, the way the priests do, and started the prayer. Nobody cries during the sacrament except the older ladies, but that Sunday I couldn’t help crying too. Calvin’s voice was soft, but it carried to the back of the chapel. I’ve never heard anybody else give the prayer the way he gave it that Sunday. He began, “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee. …” (D&C 20:77) And he didn’t make a single mistake.
I sat and wept, because it was beautiful, and because I love my brother! And that night when I went upstairs I found the marbles back on my bed.
Someday I guess I’m going to be old, and there’s not much I can do about it. But even if I’m ninety, I’ll never get rid of those marbles, any more than I can get rid of the memory of that first time Calvin blessed the sacrament.

“Kurt is a Down syndrome Scout who also has coordination problems,” says a priesthood leader. “He went with our Scout troop on a hike of about thirty kilometers. After sixteen kilometers, he lost his walking rhythm. But with his dad in front of him and his Scoutmaster behind him, he walked every step. We waited hours for him to finish.

“When Kurt and his helpers finally appeared, a spontaneous cheer went up, and Kurt proudly ran the last part, crying, and saying, ‘I did it, I did it! They are cheering for me! They thing I’m good!’ Everyone had tears in their eyes. We will never forget that lesson.”

Dear Jen* and Kersten: Do you know what the answer to number seven is?”
The words were scribbled hastily on a wadded-up piece of paper and handed to us by Shane, one of the most popular students in our high school class. I nervously glanced at Jen as she read the words on the paper. We were taking a math test, and our teacher had stepped out of the classroom for a moment. Shane had taken the opportunity to hand us the paper without getting caught.
I thought back to my conversation with Jen that morning as we walked to the end of the street where our bus would pick us up.
“Don’t you think Shane is the most gorgeous guy in our math class?” Jen asked me.
“Try the most gorgeous guy in the entire school!” I said. “If he ever gave me the time of day, I would be the happiest girl in the world!”
When we arrived in fifth period math class, Shane, who usually ignored us, started up a conversation.
“Hi. Did you study for the test?”
“Sure,” I said, flashing a smile. “Did you?”
He said that he had, but he was still a little nervous.
I understood what he meant. Even though I had studied hard, I could feel my palms sweating as Mr. Harrison passed out the exam.
Just as they were sweating now, I thought as I took the note back from Jen. I knew that cheating was wrong, but Shane had actually passed me a note! Maybe if I helped him, he would pay more attention to me, or maybe even ask me on a date! My daydreams of dating Shane became more elaborate as I passed back the note with the answers Jen and I had written on the paper.
As I finished my test, the smell of chalk and pencil lead suddenly seemed to overpower me. I felt sick to my stomach. When Mr. Harrison collected the tests, my hands shook as I gave him the papers. I felt so guilty! I hadn’t expected to feel so awful. I looked at Jen and could tell she felt the same way.
When the class was finally over, Jen asked me to wait while she went to talk to Mr. Harrison.
I wondered what she was talking to him about, and I nervously peered through the door from the hallway trying to read their lips.
After a time I saw Mr. Harrison smile and pat Jen on the back as she turned and walked slowly towards me.
“What was that all about?” I asked nonchalantly. She told me that she had admitted to Mr. Harrison that she had cheated on the test.
“What?” I looked at her, dumbfounded.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell on you or Shane. I just knew I had done something wrong, and I felt so bad I wanted to repent.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and asked her what the teacher said. He told her that he was disappointed in her for cheating and hoped she would never do it again. Because she had the courage to admit it, he would only drop her score one letter grade instead of giving her a failing mark.
At that time in my life, I didn’t think I would ever understand why Jen would risk failing a test just so she could feel better about herself. I never admitted cheating to Mr. Harrison or to my parents. In fact, I forgot about the incident completely until three years later, when I found myself being taught by the Mormon missionaries. I remembered Jen, who I knew was a Latter-day Saint, risking so much to repent, and I finally understood. Though she may never know it, her example three years earlier helped me to understand the importance of integrity.
As I read the scripture in Matthew 7:16 [Matt. 7:16]: “Ye shall know them by their fruits,” I thought of Jen and all the other members of the Church who had set good examples for me. That’s when I decided to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Shane never did ask me out on a date or even talk to me again. But as I went into the waters of baptism, I really did feel like the happiest girl in the world.

The boys’ main assignment was caring for cattle and wagons—hitching, unhitching, feeding, shoeing, corralling, guarding, and mending harnesses. This work provided Zeb with some unexpected adventures. One day, according to his diary, “I was helping to shoe an ox, and witnessed the mosquitoes and horse flies driving off the horses and cattle, and in gathering the animals we kept what is called the dog-trot for about a mile. I finally caught a horse and jumped on him, and with considerable difficulty I succeeded in getting the animals back to camp.”

But there have been lives lost in fires in homes not equipped with detectors. That’s why the fire department will give the detectors away free. The problem is getting them distributed and installed correctly. The fire department was so pleased when nearly 200 volunteers, young people and their leaders attending the combined Shreveport Louisiana Stake and Longview Texas Stake youth conference, offered to install smoke detectors as a service project.
These youth-conference-attending teens were excited to participate in service that had such immediate and personal contact with the people they were sent to help. Besides installing the warning voice of the smoke detector, the youth wanted to distribute another type of warning call, an invitation to come unto Christ. With that in mind, they each wrote their testimonies of Christ on a sheet of paper enfolding a small picture of Christ. To each person they visited, they would give this precious gift also.
First, the teens and their leaders were divided into small groups of between six and eight. They were instructed in the way to correctly install the detectors. They listened as Captain Jimmy Hall of the Shreveport Fire Department assured them that at least one of the detectors they would install that day would save someone’s life. “You are going to make a difference,” he said as they gathered their tools and headed for their assigned cars.
At first, the groups delivered detectors to those families who had requested them. A small article had run in the local paper encouraging those without detectors to call the fire department. Each group also canvassed the surrounding neighborhood.
“One of the homes where we put in an alarm had a fire last month. It had burned some cabinets in the kitchen,” said Jeffrey Loftin, 15, Brownlee Ward, Shreveport Louisiana Stake. “The project was really personal. Talking to the people was the best. It made me feel like a missionary.”
At first, some people were a little frightened to see a bunch of teenagers gathered outside their doors. “A lady answered the door,” said Melissa Carrell, 16, New Boston Ward, Shreveport Louisiana Stake. “She was scared of us because we were a bunch of kids. But she let us in. She appreciated what we were doing.”
Spreading their testimonies of Christ was a thrilling experience for most of the youth conference participants. They live in a part of the United States where many things are misunderstood about the Church. They often attend schools as one of only a few members. They are constantly having to explain that they are believers in Jesus Christ. “In striving to live my Young Women values,” said Jennifer Malone, 15, Longview Third Ward, Longview Texas Stake, “I’m also striving to teach people the gospel in my own way. I give out copies of the Book of Mormon left and right because it just seems that if I can, I should spread the gospel. It makes me beam with joy when I say that I know, without a doubt, no questions in my mind, that the Church is true.”
Handing out their testimonies with pictures of the Savior offered them a chance to talk to people about their beliefs. In nearly every case, the people listened respectfully to the things these teens talked about. And they spoke of their love for their Savior Jesus Christ. “The Savior’s suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane,” said Kimberly Hester, 16, Marshall Ward, Longview Texas Stake, “helps me to understand that He knows exactly how I feel. I’m grateful for everything He’s done for me and how my prayers have been answered.”
This was the first youth conference Chris Windham, 14, of the Nacogdoches Ward, Longview Texas Stake, had attended. He had fun at the dances, listened to the speakers, and filled up on good food. But his strongest memory might be when his group came to the final house as they installed their last smoke detector. It was Chris’s turn to talk to the homeowner and explain their purpose. Each group member had taken a turn being the one to handle the screwdriver, hold the ladder, or do the talking.
At this house, it was Chris’s turn to talk. He reached for a picture of Christ. It was supposed to have someone’s testimony written in the accompanying paper. But they had run short, and the paper was blank.
Chris handed the picture to the man they had just met. He said, “I don’t have a written testimony to give you with this picture of Christ.”
He paused. The adult leaders, who were standing behind him, glanced at each other. What was Chris going to do?
As Chris said later, the Spirit was urging him to tell this man what he believed. So, without hesitation, Chris bore his testimony with power and conviction to someone he had just met. “I know that Christ lived, and that He suffered and died for us. …”
As Chris spoke, tears sprang to the eyes of the man listening. He carefully held the picture of Christ, with head bowed, and listened to the words of a 14-year-old boy.
For a few days, the LDS youth in these two stakes didn’t feel so few in numbers. They were a force for good, and they pulled strength from being together. They bore their testimonies, in writing and in testimony meeting.
Melanie Paul, 16, Coushatta Branch, Shreveport Louisiana Stake, said about their written testimonies, “These are going to people who may change their lives. I stressed the influence of Jesus Christ in my life. They may never get another chance to hear a testimony from a member of the Church. When you start writing, you aren’t just saying empty phrases. It’s true.”
This group also wanted to take sides against a chorus of bad influences. “The advertising is all aimed at kids our age,” said John Daniels, 18, Queen City Ward, Shreveport Louisiana Stake, “encouraging us to smoke, to drink, to do other things. We need someone on the other side, warning us, telling us where we can go wrong and how to avoid it.”
The voice of warning against the vices of the world may not be as loud and strident as a smoke detector, but for those with ears to hear, it is just as compelling, a voice of warning that may save someone’s life eternally.

On the afternoon of Wednesday, September 30, 1998, a Little League football team in Inkom, Idaho, was on the field for its midweek practice. The team had completed its warm-ups and was starting to run a few plays from scrimmage. Dark clouds were gathering, as they sometimes do in the fall, and it began to rain lightly, but that was of no concern to a group of boys who loved playing football.
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a deafening crack of thunder split the air, inseparable from the flash of lightning that illuminated, literally electrified, the entire scene.
At that very moment a young friend of mine, A. J. Edwards, then a deacon in the Portneuf Ward of the McCammon Idaho Stake, was ready for the ball on a handoff that was sure to be a touchdown in this little intersquad bit of horseplay. But the lightning that had illuminated earth and sky struck A. J. Edwards from the crown of his football helmet to the soles of his shoes.
The impact of the strike stunned all the players, knocking a few to the ground, leaving one player temporarily without his sight and virtually all the rest of the players dazed and shaken. Instinctively they started running for the concrete pavilion adjacent to the park. Some of the boys began to cry. Many of them fell to their knees and began to pray. Through it all, A. J. Edwards lay motionless on the field.
Brother David Johnson of the Rapid Creek Ward, McCammon Idaho Stake, rushed to the player’s side. He shouted to coach and fellow ward member Rex Shaffer, “I can’t get a pulse. He’s in cardiac arrest.” These two men, rather miraculously both trained emergency medical technicians, started a life-against-death effort in CPR.
Cradling A. J.’s head as the men worked was the young defensive coach of the team, 18-year-old Bryce Reynolds, a member of the Mountain View Ward, McCammon Idaho Stake. As he watched Brother Johnson and Brother Shaffer urgently applying CPR, he had an impression. I am confident it was a revelation from heaven in every sense of the word. He remembered vividly a priesthood blessing that the bishop had once given his grandfather following an equally tragic and equally life-threatening accident years earlier. Now, as he held this young deacon in his arms, he realized that for the first time in his life he needed to use his newly conferred Melchizedek Priesthood in a similar way. In anticipation of his 19th birthday and forthcoming call to serve a mission, young Bryce Reynolds had been ordained an elder just 39 days earlier.
Whether he audibly spoke the words or only uttered them under his breath, Elder Reynolds said: “A. J. Edwards, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the power and authority of the Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I bless you that you will be okay. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” As Bryce Reynolds closed that brief but fervent blessing offered in the language of an 18-year-old, A. J. Edwards drew his first renewed breath.
The ongoing prayers, miracles, and additional priesthood blessings of that entire experience—including a high-speed ambulance drive to Pocatello and a near-hopeless LifeFlight to the burn center at the University of Utah—brings to us today a very healthy and robust A. J. Edwards. I also talked on the telephone with Elder Bryce Reynolds, who was serving faithfully in the Texas Dallas Mission. I love these two wonderful young men.

Third, I wish I had known that beyond loving us, the Lord loves me, and that He is involved in the very details of my life, just as He is interested in and involved with your life and the life of each of His children.

Let me tell you about a former BYU–Idaho student. I have lost track of this young woman and could not contact her to ask permission to share her story, but I do not think she will mind my doing so. For today’s purposes I will call her Molly, although that is not her real name. I read from my personal writings—first, from a letter written to my son on October 20, 2002, and then from a second letter written two months later on December 15:

It was my privilege this past week to randomly contact students and offer them tickets to the dedication of the Gordon B. Hinckley Building. And not just any tickets, but GOOD tickets—like Chapel Center Section, Row 1 or Chapel Center Section, Row 2. Do you know how close these students will be to the Prophet?
What I came to realize as I visited with these students is that there was inspiration in how they were identified and then selected to receive a ticket. Certainly, the Lord is mindful of the tiniest sparrow. And He is mindful of the average, low-key, back-row student at BYU–Idaho who would never have expected or thought himself or herself important enough to be invited to a special gathering with the Prophet. I have been touched by their surprise at being selected. Most of all, I have been touched by their humility and gratitude for the opportunity.

And from the second letter written in December:

Molly was one of the students who received a ticket to the dedication of the Hinckley Building. She called this week and asked if she could come by the office to see me, which she did Thursday afternoon. I immediately sensed that she wasn’t comfortable visiting with me in the outer office, so I suggested we go into the conference room. I closed the door, we sat down, and then she began her story.

Molly said she had been dating a young man from her hometown who is not a member of the Church. Just prior to the dedication, he had asked her to marry him and she had accepted his proposal. She said she had not planned to go to the dedication as she had hardened her heart to counsel because she was tired of being told her decision was wrong. She wasn’t anxious or willing to go where she might have to once again sort through her feelings and justify to herself or others what she was planning to do. And then, out of the blue, she gets a call from me inviting her to have a front-row seat at a meeting where President Hinckley and President Monson are the featured speakers. She said she reluctantly came to the office, picked up her ticket, and almost begrudgingly went to the dedication.

Molly got all teary eyed and said to me, ‘Being there changed my life. Something President Hinckley said, something I felt that day softened my heart. I could see that I had been praying for the wrong things. I could see that I was placing myself and my posterity for generations to come in jeopardy of receiving eternal blessings. It has not been easy and it did not happen overnight, but I have broken off my engagement. Your offering me that ticket was the answer to my parents’ prayers. Thank you.’

All I could do was sit there and cry right along with Molly. I tried to help her understand that any thanks she had to express should be directed to Someone other than me. I was merely the vehicle through which invitations were extended. Truly, in each and every case, I felt prompted and guided as I decided which students to contact.

I continue to read from the second letter:

And now, as Paul Harvey would say, the rest of the story: Molly is not a full-time student this semester. She stayed in Rexburg during her off-track time to work and pick up a few night classes. She should not have been on any list that was submitted to our office for the dedication. But her name was there, it caught my attention, and her life has been forever blessed. You can’t tell me that the Lord was not mindful of Molly and her precarious situation; of her parents’ prayers and concern; of her heart, which He knew could be touched.

You may know that I am the mother of seven sons. I know boys! It has been an exciting life at our house! I’ve learned a lot from them and from their friends, both boys and girls, and I could tell you a few of their secrets. Maybe I could just share one and hope that I won’t get in trouble. This is it: boys hate to be embarrassed. I remember the time a young man I know had a date for the prom. He brought her to our house before the dance so we could take pictures. When they got there he came into the kitchen, where I was looking for the camera, and said: “Wait until you see my date’s dress. She looks so beautiful!” This boy had never said anything like that before so I could hardly wait to see what he meant.

When I saw her I understood; she was lovely. The dress she was wearing was beautiful; I learned that she and her mother had searched everywhere for it. When they finally found this dress, they knew it would be perfect with some added fabric and finishing touches to meet their high standards.

All their efforts were rewarded because she was absolutely radiant this night, but it was more than the dress that made her shine. It was her quiet confidence. As I looked at her, I was reminded of the scripture, “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong.” Where did this confidence that she had come from? I noticed that this young woman could focus on others because she was not worried about how she looked. She had taken care of that detail weeks before. The young man she was with felt comfortable and safe and happy when he was with her because her dress was not revealing. It was modest in every way, and this made her confident and happy. And that’s appealing. He wasn’t embarrassed by her; he was proud of her.

The kind of young woman who can be a terrific torchbearer has high standards all the time, not just in her prom dress, but every, ordinary day. There are so many of you who are like that, and I salute you tonight. You have made modesty your way of life. It is more than how you dress. It includes at least six things that I can think of: (1) your behavior is decent and modest, and yet you are very fun to be with; (2) your language is never crude but happy and interesting; (3) you are well groomed, and that is appealing; (4) you are focused on developing your talents and achieving your goals, not piercing and tattooing and flaunting your body; (5) you play sports with gusto but never lose control; (6) you don’t seem to care about what the latest pop star wears or does because you have a certain style of your own. In summary, you do not imitate the world’s standards because you know a higher standard. You know who you are, and that puts you at a real advantage. You know that you really are a daughter of Heavenly Father. You know that He knows you and that He loves you; you want to please Him and honor His love for you. You know that even if you make foolish mistakes, He will help you if you turn to Him.

You act like you have memorized For the Strength of Youth! Isn’t that a great little guide? Sometimes I like to call it “helps for happiness” because living these standards can be your secret weapon for attracting good people to you and keeping you on the right track. When you live the high standards of the Church every day, you hold high the torch.

A girl I will call Liz is an example of what I am talking about. She was a student in a math class with a girl I will call Lindsay, who noticed that there was just something about Liz that “glowed,” as she put it. Lindsay admitted that she really didn’t think Liz knew her, but she still made her feel good. She really stood up for what she believed, and she always made others feel good and included. For several weeks Lindsay observed Liz. Then one day, Liz didn’t show up at school. Then another and then another passed. Lindsay finally learned that Liz was very ill with life-threatening meningitis.
She came home from school and just sat at the table crying. It wasn’t like she and Liz were close friends, but she said to her mom that they just had to do something to help her. Lindsay suggested that perhaps their whole family could fast and pray for Liz. What a shock it was for the mother to hear that coming from one of her own children, because fasting and prayer had not been mentioned in their home for years. When Lindsay and her mom talked with the rest of the family about it that night at supper, there was some resistance, but Lindsay pleaded with them and finally they all agreed to fast and pray for Liz, a stranger. The most wonderful thing happened. It wasn’t long before Liz returned to school appearing healthy and happy as ever. But even more important than this, the experience brought the most remarkable spirit of hope into Lindsay’s home. Because of it, some serious changes have taken place in their family. They are now having family prayer together, something that had not happened for years.

Liz’s goodness glowed, and it was catching. Liz, if you are here tonight, I would just like to say, “Thank you! By your goodness you have blessed at least one whole family whom you probably do not even know. And who knows how many others have been guided as you held high your torch.”

Being good makes you feel good, and it also makes others feel good! Can I just tell you this—it is so much easier to do what is right than it is to do what is wrong. Life is so much less complicated when you are good.

The greatest advantage of being good is that it will lead you to the temple, the most beautiful and sacred of all the places on this earth. The temple is the place the Savior could visit because it is His holy house here on earth.

President Lorenzo Snow’s granddaughter was in the temple with him on one occasion when President Snow said to her, “‘Allie[,] I want to tell you something. … It was right here that the Lord Jesus Christ appeared to me.’ [Grandfather] put his right hand on [my] head and said, ‘Now granddaughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grandfather, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the temple, and talked with him face to face.’”

Can you imagine the reverence you would feel to walk the same halls the Savior walked? Do you picture yourself there, pure and clean, a daughter of God, prepared to receive His finest blessings?

Personal Progress will help you in your preparation for the temple. It is inspired of heaven. What a beautiful little treasure it is. It will help you draw closer to the Savior, and it will help you magnify the divine gifts of womanhood of which we have spoken. It is designed just for you at this very important period of preparation, for the patterns you set and the choices you make now will affect the rest of your life. It is our prayer that as you complete your Personal Progress, your light will shine so brightly that it will be an influence for good on generations to come. For these reasons and more, the First Presidency has said: “We desire all young women to strive to earn the Young Womanhood Recognition. As youth work on these goals, they will develop skills and attributes that will lead them to the temple and prepare them for a lifetime of service to their families and the Lord.” The beautiful new Young Womanhood medallion depicts temple spires reminding you that you are preparing to receive the ordinances of the temple, for it is through the temple that we come to Christ.

We are especially thinking of Christ on this Easter eve. More than 2,000 years ago on this eve, as His body was in the tomb, some believed that the light had gone out. But we know that on the morning of the third day, which we call Easter, He arose to be our salvation, our Savior, our eternal light that will never fail us. I testify that Christ is the light and the life of the world.

Dear young women, let your light shine so brightly before all of your family and friends that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven. It is a privilege to carry the torch. It is our prayer that His light will shine on your path every step along your way and that your goodness will qualify you to one day receive the ordinances of the temple, for it is in that holy place that you will find the greatest light of all, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

At one time the Lord said that He was “well pleased” with Joseph Wakefield. He was stalwart and faithful and taught hundreds about the prophetic work of Joseph Smith. But from 1833 to 1834 he was influenced by some dissidents in Kirtland. He was once in the home of Joseph Smith. Joseph came out of the room where he had been translating the word of God and immediately began to play with some children. “This convinced [Brother Wakefield] that [Joseph] was not a man of God and that [therefore] the work was false.” In due course, Joseph Wakefield apostatized, was excommunicated, and became a persecutor of the Church and of the Saints.

“The gospel fills my life with such joy!” the young woman at the pulpit in my student ward exclaimed. I could tell it was true, but my own heart was heavy. I had always been a member of the Church, and I believed in the gospel with all my heart. I followed its principles faithfully. But I didn’t feel that there was any true joy in my life, only the never-ending demands of school, Church callings, friends, and family. Why couldn’t I feel the way the girl at the pulpit did?
The question soon began to consume my thoughts. The familiar Book of Mormon scripture echoed in my head: “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). I became determined to find an answer.
“Father in Heaven,” I prayed late one night, “please, oh please. I’m not happy, and I’m not sure why. Where can I find the joy that prophets and others speak of?”
I crossed campus the next day, sure that now I would get the answer to my prayers. Rain had been falling for three days, filling the flower beds and spilling down the sidewalks. As I plodded through the puddles, I peered into the faces of the other students and wondered if they were truly happy.
The day passed as usual, and I was still discouraged. I sat doing homework, more downhearted than ever.
The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence of my self-pity.
“Catherine!” It was my dad’s cheery voice. “How are you?”
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay.”
“Just okay?” he asked.
Soon I had told him the whole problem. Finally, I asked, “Where can I find true joy?”
He was silent for a moment, thinking.
“When I was in Germany on a mission,” he said slowly, “the sun sometimes shone for only a few hours a day. Depressing darkness would fill the rest of our waking hours. I struggled with the gloominess for some time before I learned that if I wanted to have sunshine, I had to carry it with me in my heart.”
I think back on this conversation with my dad regularly. My answer came then. Joy is something inside a person. It comes from living the gospel, being grateful for the opportunity to do so, and then remembering to simply be happy about it.

My parents took back my credit card, my cell phone, and my car. They ignored me for a few months and would not let me speak to my brothers. My sister also found it difficult to accept me for a while. I moved to Utah for college, where I met a wonderful man and fell in love. My parents would not meet my husband when we were married, but now those tensions are slowly resolving, and I am in hopeful pursuit of my eternal family.

Because of COVID-19, our local hospitals needed more face masks for the care providers. The Relief Society needed help sewing elastics on the masks. I volunteered and sewed the elastics on more than 80 face masks in two days.
A lot of the service on the website JustServe.org is for people 11 and older. I am always disappointed that I can’t help, so I was excited that I was able to participate in our ward’s service project! I was grateful to be able to help the community.
You can find ways to serve too! Go to JustServe.org to find some ideas.