Gospel Story Finder

First, here’s Curt. Today he is 25, but he has no difficulty recalling his 16th summer. “I was 2 meters tall, and I loved to play ball, especially basketball. I played on our high school team and even had dreams of playing professional basketball in New York.”

Curt grew up in Shelley, Idaho, where he could always find work on the neighboring farms. “I enjoyed working. I saved everything I earned as a boy, trying to get my missionary and college funds together.” Curt had saved six thousand dollars.

Curt’s accident happened one day during a break in his job.
“You know, sometimes young kids try crazy things. I looked at an electrical pole and thought, ‘That looks like something challenging to climb.’ So I did.” Witnesses told him that three electrical shocks held him in midair before he fell 7.6 meters and landed in mud. “The doctor said the impact of falling that far started my heart again, so now I’m alive. I lay there in the mud and thought, ‘I’ll never play ball again.’”

Curt spent six painful months in the hospital. He recalls that his family and friends helped greatly during that time. His close friends visited him regularly. His father kindly insisted he learn to be independent. The town held fund-raising campaigns to help pay medical expenses. When he returned to school, his classmates encouraged him and helped him see the brighter side of life. Curt graduated with his class.

Curt’s testimony helped him, too. He says, “I’m grateful to be a Mormon. I know this life is just a small speck in eternity. Someday I’ll have my legs and run again.”

When I drove home that night, I asked myself, “What kind of father will Pablo be?” And the answer was crystal clear: he’ll be just like his dad. Jesus said, “The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.” This is the pattern of how Heavenly Father blesses His children from generation to generation.

As I continued to think about my experience with Pablo, I felt sad because my four daughters were grown and the nine grandchildren I had at the time didn’t live nearby. I then thought, “How could I ever help them the way Pablo’s father helped him? Had too much time gone by?” As I offered a prayer in my heart, the Spirit whispered this profound truth: “It’s never too early and it’s never too late to begin this important process.” I knew immediately what that meant. I could hardly wait to get home. I asked my wife, Sharol, to call all of our children and tell them that we needed to visit with them; I had something really important to tell them. My urgency startled them a little.

We began with our oldest daughter and her husband. I said: “Your mother and I want you to know that we were your age once. We were 31, with a small family. We have an idea of what you might encounter. It might be a financial or health challenge. It may be a crisis of faith. You may just get overwhelmed with life. When these things happen, we want you to come and talk to us. We’ll help you get through them. Now, we don’t want to be in your business all the time, but we want you to know that we are always in your corner. And while we’re together, I want to tell you about an interview I just had with a young man named Pablo.”

After the story, I said, “We don’t want you to miss helping your children and our grandchildren understand these important truths.”

One night after I came out of the church, my new silver CTR ring fell out of my pocket. My dad and uncle shined the headlights of their cars into the bushes, but I still couldn’t find it. I was feeling sad. My mom said we should have a family prayer. After the prayer, I walked through the bushes and felt a prompting to look down. There was my ring under a bush! I know that my prayer was answered and that yours can be, too.Brian Seegmiller, age 10Fairfield, California

I saw it in New Mexico as a young man. For generations the prophets have told us that we must help the missionaries find and teach the honest in heart and then love those who come into the kingdom.

I have seen for myself what faithful priesthood leaders and members can do. In 1955 I became an officer in the United States Air Force. My bishop at home gave me a blessing just before I left for my first station, which was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

In his blessing he said that my time in the air force would be missionary service. I arrived in church on my first Sunday at the Albuquerque First Branch. A man walked up to me, introduced himself as the district president, and told me that he was going to call me to serve as a district missionary.

I told him that I would be there for training for only a few weeks and then I would be assigned somewhere else in the world. He said, “I don’t know about that, but we are to call you to serve.” In the middle of my military training, by what appeared to be chance, I was chosen from hundreds of officers being trained to take the place in headquarters of an officer who had died suddenly.

So, for the two years I was there, I worked in my office. On most evenings and every weekend, I taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to people the members brought to us.

My companions and I averaged more than 40 hours a month in our missionary service without once having to knock on doors to find someone to teach. The members filled our plates so full that we often taught two families in an evening. I saw for myself the power and the blessing in the repeated call of prophets for every member to be a missionary.

On the last Sunday before I left Albuquerque, the first stake was organized in that city. There is now a sacred temple there, a house of the Lord, in a city where we once met in a single chapel with Saints who brought friends to us to be taught and to feel the witness of the Spirit. Those friends felt a welcoming home in the Lord’s true Church.

Here are pictures for another true story that shows how Jacob Hamblin could be trusted. Cut out the characters and mount them on flannel. Place them on a flannel board as you read what each one says. You could give the story as a play for family home evening and have family members read assigned parts. The characters could be attached to tongue depressors or Popsicle sticks and held by each person.
Jacob, Jr.: I am the son of Jacob Hamblin. My name is also Jacob. One day my father sent me to trade a horse for some blankets with an old Navajo Indian chief.
Jacob Hamblin: I am Jacob Hamblin. I told my young son to be sure to make a good trade.
Jacob, Jr.: I rode on horseback, leading the horse that was to be traded.
Navajo Chief: I am the Navajo Indian chief. Young Jacob told me that his father wanted to trade a horse for some blankets. I brought out a number of handsome blankets.
Jacob, Jr.: I shook my head and said that I would have to have more.
Navajo Chief: I brought out two buffalo robes and quite a few more blankets.
Jacob, Jr.: Thinking that I had done quite well, I bundled all the blankets and robes into a roll behind my saddle, mounted my horse, and started for home.
Jacob Hamblin: When my son arrived home, I undid the roll of blankets and robes. I looked at them and began to separate them. I put blanket after blanket into a pile and then rolled them up. I told young Jacob to take them back and tell the chief that he had sent too many.
Jacob, Jr.: I rode again to the Indian chief, returned the blankets to him, and told him that my father thought that he had sent too many. The old chief smiled and said:
Navajo Chief: I knew that you would come back; I knew that Jacob would not cheat me. (Adapted from Valiant B Manual, page 139.)

Why was Brother Saraiva, the president of the Guaratingatá Branch, successful as a missionary? He heard Elder Gordon B. Hinckley at a stake conference in Brazil, in which Elder Hinckley challenged the people to bring one hundred people into the Church that year. And so Brother Saraiva said, “Why not? If a member of the Twelve says it can be done, I will obey.” The last time I spoke with Brother Saraiva, he had baptized more than two hundred fifty people.

“July 1839.—President Joseph Smith had taken the sick into his house and door-yard until his house was like an hospital and he had attended upon them until he was taken sick himself and confined to his bed several days.
“July 22, 1839.—Joseph arose from his bed of sickness, and the power of God rested upon him. He commenced in his own house and door-yard, commanding the sick, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole, and they were healed according to his word. He then continued to travel from house to house from tent to tent upon the bank of the river, healing the sick as he went until he arrived at the upper stonehouse, where he crossed the river in a boat, accompanied by several of the Quorum of the Twelve, and landed in Montrose.
“He walked into the cabin where I was lying sick, and commanded me, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. I arose and was healed, and followed him and the brethren of the Twelve into the house of Elijah Fordham, who was supposed to be dying, by his family and friends. Joseph stepped to his bedside, took him by the hand and commanded him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. His voice was as the voice of God. Brother Fordham instantly leaped from his bed, called for his clothing and followed us into the street.
“We then went into the house of Joseph B. Noble, who also lay very sick, and he was healed in the same manner; and when, by the power of God granted unto him, Joseph had healed all the sick, he recrossed the river and returned to his home. This was a day never to be forgotten.
“During my further stay in Montrose I attended meetings and administered to the sick when I was well myself.”7

I first discovered the garage when I was seven years old and spending the day at my grandparents’ house. I quickly settled into my routine of playing with toys in their living room. Just as I jumped my toy car off of the armrest of the sofa, my grandpa walked through the den wearing a set of blue overalls covered in stains and his favorite “Ford Racing” hat. Opening the sliding door and stepping over the threshold, he looked back to find me staring at him wide-eyed. With a wink, he motioned for me to follow him.
As we walked across the backyard and came to the door of the gray garage, Grandpa reached into his pocket and retrieved his keys. Slowly and methodically, he fingered through the keys with his big, calloused hands that were the result of a lifetime of hard work. Finally, he found the old brass key he was looking for, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door.
After climbing over boxes and tiptoeing around engine parts and transmission pieces, we stood in the middle of the garage. Grandpa showed me around, pointing to various parts and explaining what they did in a way that my seven-year-old mind could understand. He pointed out the cars he was fixing and what they needed to run well again. One was a 1940s-era roadster that looked just like one of my toy cars. The other was a 1965 Mustang that was lying in pieces all over the floor. It was amazing how much my grandpa knew and how he could figure out exactly what was wrong with something so complex. His stories of growing up in a family of 12 and buying old cars, repainting them, and selling them to make money made me laugh and the stories of car crashes and real fiery explosions astounded me.
Over the years I’ve put in my share of elbow grease in Grandpa’s garage. I would change oil in the countless cars that rolled into the shop, driven by people asking for my grandpa to work on their vehicles. Grandpa would always smile and treat his loyal customers to at least a half-hour’s worth of conversation. I helped clean the brake drums and apply body filler to the Mustang, which soon became my favorite car in the garage. We spent many hours working in the crowded space. I treasured the time I got to spend with my grandpa working in the garage.
When I was nine, I moved away and no longer got to spend time in the garage with Grandpa. A few years later the distance multiplied when my grandparents were called to serve a mission in Hawaii. However, it was truly a blessing. My grandpa finally got the chance to serve the Lord as a missionary. Growing up in such a large family meant that money was limited, and a full-time mission wasn’t possible for him when he was young. While my grandpa had the desire to serve, a full-time mission involved a great deal of sacrifice. I had always wanted to serve a mission, and seeing my grandparents serve and the blessings that came from their service bolstered my desire. When my grandpa came back, the garage was waiting for him. The sounds of power tools and metal once again reverberated through the walls.
The years have raced by, and I am older now. But working with Grandpa is still special to me. Whenever I come back to visit, it seems like there is always a new project or something that needs to be done. The distance makes me treasure our time together so much more.
I recently visited during the summer, and Grandpa gave me that familiar wink as he motioned for me to follow him. Expecting a new job, I followed willingly. As he lifted the door to the garage, what I saw took my breath away. There stood a beautifully restored 1965 Mustang. The body filler had been covered with a beautiful copper metallic paint, and the brake drums were now masked by flawless new rims. Big white racing stripes flowed up the front of the car from the chrome front bumper to the chrome rear bumper, and the shiny running horse pranced across the front of the grill. He put the key into the ignition, and the huge V-8 engine roared to life. He looked at me and smiled, then he asked if I wanted to go for a ride. I quickly said yes, and with that, we backed the car out of the garage and took off down the street.
As I make preparations to serve a mission, I look forward to following in my grandpa’s footsteps once again as I serve the Lord. My grandpa has not only taught me many things about cars, but he has also taught me many things about life. From all the hours we spent in the garage, I’ve learned how to be patient and take pride in my work. Because of his incredible people skills, I’ve learned how to approach and talk to people. And above all, he helped me discover who I truly am. Just like the Mustang, I have been piecing myself together over the last 18 years, and now, with help from Grandpa, I am finally ready for the open road.

Twenty years ago my bishop was interviewing me for my temple recommend. Because I was a member of a stake presidency, I knew all the temple recommend interview questions. I asked them weekly to other members, and I was prepared to answer each question that my bishop asked me. But following the formal questions, he caught me totally off guard with an additional inquiry about my understanding of the gospel.
He asked, “Jay, do you know how to repent?” My first thought was to say, “Yes, of course I know how to repent.” I paused for a moment to think about it, and the more I thought about it, the more uncertain I was of my answer. The standard five or six R’s of repentance (recognition, remorse, restitution, reformation, resolution, etc.) did not seem adequate. In fact, they were meaningless to me at that time. They seemed to be too trite, too compartmentalized.
I know there are some great doctrines and principles in those R’s of repentance, but I did not feel comfortable giving an immediate answer or using them in my answer. Finally I said rather hesitatingly, “Yes, bishop. I think I do.” I do not remember any other details of the interview because I was so struck with that one question. “Jay, do you know how to repent?” Since then I have thought a lot about that question and the associated doctrine.
Some years ago I worked in the Missionary Department of the Church. We were developing materials to help missionaries be better and do better. One of the General Authorities shared this experience about repentance:
“A little over a year ago, I had the privilege of interviewing a young man to go on a mission. Because he had committed a major transgression, it was necessary for him under then-existing policy to be interviewed by a General Authority. When the young man came in, I said, ‘Apparently there’s been a major transgression in your life, and that has necessitated this interview. Would you mind telling me what the problem was? What did you do?’
“He laughed and said, ‘Well, there isn’t anything I haven’t done.’ I said, ‘Well, let’s be more specific then. Have you … ?’ And then this General Authority began to probe with some very specific questions. The young man laughed again and said, ‘I told you, I’ve done everything.’
“I said, ‘How many times have you …’ He said very sarcastically, ‘Do you think I numbered them?’ I said, ‘I would to God you could if you can’t.’ He said, again quite sarcastically, ‘Well, I can’t.’
“I said, ‘How about …’ And then the General Authority probed in another direction. He said, ‘I told you. I’ve done everything.’ I said, ‘Drugs?’ He said, ‘Yes,’ in a very haughty attitude. I said, ‘What makes you think you’re going on a mission then?’ He said, ‘I know I’m going. My patriarchal blessing says I’ll go on a mission, and I’ve repented. I haven’t done any of those things for this past year. I have repented, and I know I’m going on a mission.’
“I said, ‘My dear friend, I’m sorry but you are not going on a mission. Do you think we could send you out with those clean, wholesome young men who have never violated the code? Do you think we could have you go out and boast and brag about your past? You haven’t repented; you have just stopped doing something.
“‘Sometime in your life you need to visit Gethsemane; and when you have been there, you’ll understand what repentance is. Only after you have suffered in some small degree as the Savior suffered in Gethsemane will you know what repentance is. The Savior has suffered in a way none of us understands for every transgression committed. How dare you laugh and jest and have a haughty attitude about your repentance? I’m sorry, you are not going on a mission.’
“He started to cry, and he cried for several minutes. I didn’t say a word. Finally, he said, ‘I guess that’s the first time I have cried since I was five years old.’ I said, ‘If you had cried like that the first time you were tempted to violate the moral code, you possibly would be going on a mission.’
“He left the office, and I think he felt I was really cruel. I explained to the bishop and the stake president that the boy could not go on a mission.”
About six months later the same General Authority returned to that city to speak in a lecture series held in the evening. When he finished, many young adults lined up to shake hands with him. As he shook hands, one by one, he looked up and saw the young man that he had previously interviewed standing in the line about four back. The General Authority relates the following:
“My mind quickly flashed back to our interview. I recalled his laughing and haughty attitude. I remembered how sarcastic he was. Pretty soon he was right in front of me. I was on the stand bending over, and as I reached down to shake his hand, I noticed a great change had taken place. He had tears in his eyes. He had almost a holy glow about his countenance. He took my hand in his and said, ‘I’ve been there; I’ve been to Gethsemane and back.’ I said, ‘I know. It shows in your face.’ We can be forgiven for our transgressions, but we must understand that just to stop doing something is not repentance. If it had not been for the Savior and the miracle of forgiveness, this young man would have carried his transgressions throughout all eternity. We ought to love the Savior and serve Him for this reason and this reason alone” (Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone, Sweden Area Conference, Youth Session, Aug. 1974).
The words “conditions of repentance” (see Hel. 5:11; Hel. 14:11; D&C 18:12) have great meaning. I have studied and pondered the scriptures to learn what those conditions are and discovered that these conditions could also be called prerequisites to the five or six R’s. These R’s are important and much needed, but the following conditions need to precede them.
The first condition is that God lives. He is in heaven. He knows us by name. We cannot hide from Him. He has a fullness of divine attributes and perfections, including all knowledge. In order for repentance to begin, we must start with God and our relationship to Him.
Elder Jeffrey Holland made a very insightful comment about repentance and God. “Someone once said that repentance is the first pressure we feel when drawn to the bosom of God” (Ensign, Nov. 1996, 83).
We are fallen, mortal, unclean and we need help. We are estranged and cannot live with Him being mortal.
We need to know the doctrine that one day we will die. Some die early, some late. But that day will come; it is absolute.
There will be a final judgment. An important condition of repentance is to believe that one day we will all stand before the judgment bar. That day will come.
Another prerequisite or condition to repentance is to know that no unclean thing can dwell with God (see 1 Ne. 10:21; 1 Ne. 15:34; Alma 7:21; Alma 40:26; and Hel. 8:25). You can hide sins from your bishop, you can hide them from your parents and friends, but if you continue and die with unresolved sins, you are unclean and no unclean thing can dwell with God. There are no exceptions.
We are saved only through the merits, the mercy, and the grace of the Holy One of Israel (see 2 Ne. 2:8). He is our only hope. As we find ourselves where we are, we turn to Him. I am so grateful for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, a message of hope. There is hope and He can make us clean.
I have worked with many, including my own self, and have seen the miracle of forgiveness, the miracle of cleansing, and I bear witness of Him, as one of His witnesses. I know that He lives. May you ever be blessed to stay on that straight and narrow path that leads you to God.

Linda Bradshaw of the Sutton Coldfield Ward, Lichfield England Stake, travelled to St. James’ Palace in London to meet His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh. She was one of a group of young women and young men from all over the country chosen to receive the Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award.
Requirements for the gold award include participation and excellence in five areas—physical activity, a skill, community service, residential outward-bound course, and an expedition. Linda became proficient in art and crafts, playing the flute, aerobics, swimming, and self-defence. She completed her community service serving as an assistant junior school teacher during her free school periods. Her experience as a teacher’s assistant helped her decide to make teaching her career.
Her outward-bound experiences included abseiling (like rappeling), canoeing, fencing, and orienteering. Her four-day expedition was hiking and camping across the Cader Idris Mountains in North Wales.
“As each stage became progressively harder,” said Linda, “I appreciated the way completing seminary booklets and setting goals to memorize scriptures helped me to overcome hurdles and learn how to complete my goals for these awards.”

Garth and Eloise Andrus of Draper, Utah, USA, know what it means to have a missionary-minded family. They have 17 grandsons who have served missions, and they have served six missions themselves.
Fostering a spirit of missionary service in your family is something that begins from the time children are young, Brother Andrus said.
Sister Andrus agreed. “You don’t leave serving a mission as a silent expectation, but you talk to your kids and grandkids about it like it’s not a question—when you go on your mission, not if,” she said.
Teaching youth who they are by setting an example of missionary service is also important. Brother and Sister Andrus accepted their first call in 1980, just as their youngest son was leaving on his mission.
One grandson wrote them after receiving a gift they sent to help him prepare for his mission. “He thanked us [for the gift], but said, ‘Far more important is to thank you for the example that you have set,’” Sister Andrus said.

It’s the same every Mother’s Day. I ask my mom what I can give her, she stops what she’s doing, takes my face in her hands, smiles her what-a-wonderful-boy-you-are-smile, and says, “A poem and a kiss. That’s all I need.”
Well, that always sounds pretty wimpy to me. I mean, a guy in sixth grade just doesn’t go for that mushy stuff. I usually end up giving her one of my drawings. But this particular Mother’s Day had to be different. Mom needed something bigger than a poem, something better than a kiss, and something bolder than a drawing.
Dad lost his job a couple months ago. He’s been looking hard for a new one and doing freelance work whenever he can get it, but Mom always looks worried. She’s been substituting at the elementary school for a teacher who just had a baby. The fifth grade class is noisy and rowdy, and she comes home real tired. Then she has to cook dinner and do laundry and make phone calls for her Church calling. This was no ordinary Mother’s Day. I had to think up an awesome present.
I was watching an old movie on TV, when I got an idea. A great idea! I checked out my wardrobe and decided I had what I needed. I did a little practicing in front of the mirror and figured I could pull it off. I was all set. Not only would my present help Mom out, but it would make her laugh, too.
It was the Saturday morning before Mother’s Day. I had already told my friends that I wouldn’t be joining them for our usual bike ride. I got up pretty early for a change, and instead of putting on a T-shirt and jeans, I put on a white dress shirt, my dark Sunday suit, and my Sunday shoes. I wet my hair and slicked it back. I stood up straight, threw back my shoulders, stuck out my chin, and walked up to Mom, who was putting a load of dirty clothes in the washing machine. I never thought it would be so hard to keep a smile off my face. But I had to.
“Madam,” I said in a formal voice, my eyebrows raised. “I am Andrews, your Butler-for-the-Day.”
Mom looked up from her work with a start. “Andy! You’re all dressed up! Where in the world are you going? Is there a funeral? What was that you said?”
“What I said, Madam,” I replied in my most stately manner, “is that I am your Mother’s Day Butler.” I bowed slightly, just like the guy in the movie. No smiling allowed, I told myself.
Mom was speechless, so I continued, “You may call me Andrews. This entire day I will be at your complete disposal. You have merely to ask, and I will immediately carry out your orders. Your wish is my command.” Now I was sounding more like a movie genie, but Mom didn’t seem to notice. She hadn’t laughed like that in weeks, which made it even harder not to smile.
“Are you serious?” Mom asked when she regained control of herself.
“Sure I am—I mean—most assuredly, Madam. What will you have me do first?”
“This is such a treat!” Mom exclaimed. “How about, … well, … would you mind setting the table for breakfast?”
“Certainly, Madam,” I said. Giving her another bow, I went to work.
“What’s Andy doing, Mom?” I heard my twin sisters ask. They were being total pests, as usual. “Why is he wearing his Sunday clothes?”
“Yeah, what’s up, Andy?” said Dad, coming in from the garage.
“Andrews is my Butler-for-the-Day,” Mom proclaimed like the queen of the world.
My sisters stared holes in me while I poured the orange juice. I guess they weren’t used to seeing me help in the kitchen. My next job was to pull weeds in the front yard. Not a very distinguished, butler-type job, but I did it anyway, even though my Sunday shoes got caked with mud. Mom was really taking this thing seriously!
I had promised myself that no matter what Mom asked me to do, I would do it in true butler style, without a wince. It wasn’t hard, really. She wanted the furniture rearranged and the carpet vacuumed. As long as I had the vacuum out, she said I could clean under the sofa cushions. I crawled on the floor and polished the table and chair legs. I climbed the ladder and dusted the ceiling fan. I hefted overloaded laundry baskets and put clothes away. If the doorbell rang, I hurried to answer it in my formal manner and announced visitors. I picked up the phone before it had a chance to ring twice, and I made some of Mom’s calls for her. Mom smiled and giggled over everything I did. I merely bowed and said, “What further service would Madam wish?” Then she’d smile again.
She kept me busy just about all day. I didn’t slow down until she did, which was after dinner. I put a white dish towel over my arm and served ice water on the porch to her and Dad while they watched the sunset.
“That will be all, Andrews,” said Mom, faking an English accent. Then she laughed and acted like her regular self. “Andy, this was the best Mother’s Day present I’ve ever had. I feel like I’ve had a vacation! I didn’t even have to answer the phone all day!” She let out a big sigh. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be caught up with my housework—and to have such a willing worker!”
“Very good, Madam,” I said. “Will that be all?” I didn’t want to break character while I was still in costume. Mom chuckled and then regally waved me away. “I sure love you!” she called after me, as I hurried to get my Sunday clothes clean for the next day.
The “real” Mother’s Day, Sunday, was a pretty good one. Mom was relaxed and happy. In sacrament meeting, she kept smiling at me with a double-mushy, wonderful-boy look. At home, every two minutes she raved about her Butler-for-the-Day. She kept saying how she could feel the spirit of the Sabbath day so much better in an orderly house.
The twins, however, stared at me with something less than stars in their eyes. They had gone the poem-and-a-kiss route.
“I wish I’d thought of that butler thing,” one of them said.
“Well, I know what I’m going to do,” the other one said. “I’m going to ask Mom if I can be her lady’s maid all day next Saturday.”
“I have dibs on the next Saturday! Let’s dress up and call her mum, and curtsy!”
They ran up to the attic to look for a costume. Once my sisters get an idea, there’s no stopping them, even if it’s somebody else’s. But if they want to steal my idea and be lady’s maids, that’s fine with me. Being Butler-for-the-Day was pretty strenuous. Once a year is about all Andrews can handle. But I guess Andy could help out a little more regularly. Only I’m not wearing a suit to do it—no way!

As Carole reached to examine her work more closely, something fell from within the scarf. She withdrew her hand for a moment, then grasped a well-worn Book of Mormon. On the cover was printed, “NAOMI STEWART SWEET.” Carole opened the book to the inside cover and read,
“To Sweetie,
“This is a copy of the book I was telling you about. I hope you’ll read it even though you think it’s all fairy tales and wishes. Daddy says that you should read it and then pray to Heavenly Father and ask him if it’s true.
“I’ve already read it with my family, and even though I don’t understand everything, I know I can understand more each time I read it. I think the stories have good messages, and I love the prophets that wrote them. I also love Jesus, and I want to be like him. I love you, and I want you to know Jesus like I know him.
“With love from Carole.”
Carole clutched the book and looked out the window at fluffy snowflakes falling in glistening crescents along the corners of the windowpanes. How could it be that she had known Jesus so much more when she was only eleven years old? Where had her love of the Savior gone? She again thumbed through the book and looked at its color-streaked pages. Sweetie had read it and read it countless times. It was not age that made the book look like an antique, but its use. Carole had brought Sweetie the gospel message, and now she felt she was letting her down by wavering in her own testimony.
Carole began reading the marked verses and the notes written in the margins. One verse marked in yellow caught her eye, “O … the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, … wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not” (2 Ne. 9:28).
Images of her professors and their accusations of the irrational nature of religion and of the Church flashed through her mind. Yet she felt triumphant that she had been defending what she knew deep inside was right. She continued to read, “But to be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (2 Ne. 9:29).
Carole felt a flicker of hope. She was doing something good by learning at college. She just needed to keep up her study of the gospel. All at once, her guilt fled, and she realized she had a lot of work to do to get her testimony to the height it had been during her Primary days. For the first time in months, she felt happy.
Carole quickly put everything back into the trunk and came down the stairs. Sweetie was waiting with eager anticipation.
“Well, do you like it? Did you find the ring? I was sure you’d want it,” she smiled.
“Oh, Sweetie, thank you. Thank you for the best present anyone has ever given me!”
As Carole hugged Sweetie, she smelled cinnamon and ginger, and she smiled as a new feeling of hope grew inside of her.
“Come on, Sweetie,” she said. “You’ve got a tree that needs trimming.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Boy, math is hard!
Math’s easy. Science is hard.
Science is pretty easy for me.
Hey, I could help you study math and you could help me study science.
You’re a genius! Let’s start tonight!
Great! Then you can look at my paper during math tests and I’ll look at yours on science tests!
No, Taylor. That’s not going to happen. It’s cheating.
No, it’s not. It’s friends helping each other.
Actually, it’s friends hurting each other. Helping me learn math makes me a better person. Helping me pretend I’ve learned math when I really haven’t is helping me be dishonest.
OK, then. Before tests we work together. During tests we’re on our own.
Deal! That’s the best way we can help each other.

President Harold B. Lee told of a great educator, Horace Mann, who “was the speaker at the dedication of a … boys’ school. … In his talk he said, ‘This school has cost hundreds of thousands of dollars; but if this school is able to save one boy, it is worth all that it cost.’ One of his friends came up to [Mr. Mann] at the close of the meeting and said, ‘You let your enthusiasm get away with you, didn’t you? You … said that if this school, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, were to save just one boy, it was worth all that it cost? You surely don’t mean that.’
“Horace Mann looked at him and said, ‘Yes, my friend. It would be worth it if that one boy were my son; it would be worth it’” (“Today’s Young People,” Ensign, June 1971, 61).

I had been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints just a few days when a casual conversation among a group of friends turned to my recent conversion.
Some were intrigued, even fascinated. A few were indifferent. One young woman my age simply and uncompromisingly refused to believe I was Christian.
It was my first taste of trying to explain my beliefs to those who did not share them. I remember feeling utterly frustrated as I tried to penetrate a mind so tightly shuttered that no amount of reasoning could pry it open.
As the Church grows it will face increasing scrutiny, like any major faith, and that will lead to many more face-to-face or online conversations between our members and their families, friends, and associates who don’t share our faith.
Paying attention to some basic principles can help members respond to questions or comments with more confidence.
One of the great advantages that faithful Church members have is that our faith encourages us to “live our religion.” There is a sense of authenticity that comes as friends and associates see the connection between what one says and what one does.
If a Latter-day Saint’s life is his or her best sermon, then our conversations ought also to be open, genuine, and engaged in with a spirit of kindness, even if people ask inappropriate questions or adopt a cynical tone. Our claims to be followers of Jesus Christ are most convincing when our actions are in harmony with our beliefs. When we are answering questions or even criticisms, there will be times when we need a thick skin. We may also need a sense of humor.
In 2007 at a commencement ceremony for BYU–Hawaii graduates, Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “If you live the principles of the gospel [rather than] just study them, that special combination of knowledge will allow you to feel comfortable and prepared to teach what you know to be true—in any setting.”
When we are addressing questions or comments about our faith, it is important to establish some context from the outset.
Rather than simply responding to a series of random questions, it might be helpful to first take 30 seconds to establish a foundation. That can be as simple as explaining that we embrace Jesus Christ as our Savior and accept the Bible’s teachings about His birth, life, ministry, Crucifixion, and Resurrection. We also believe that the Christian world departed from the truths Jesus taught in the Bible and that the Church He established needed to be restored.
Laying out the foundational beliefs of the Church in this way supplies a reference point as the discussion turns to other tenets of the gospel.
As members listen to questions, they can discern the gospel principle at the heart of the question and connect the answer back to the Savior.
For example, why do we send missionaries to Christian countries? Because in His day Jesus sent His messengers two by two “into all the world.” And we do the same today. Why do we frown on cohabitation before marriage? Because Jesus and His Apostles taught the sanctity of marriage and all that goes with it.
We do not need complicated, sophisticated secular arguments when the principles we try to live by come from the Son of God.
Answering our friends’ questions is not about reciting memorized answers. Sharing genuine, personal experiences can invite the Spirit to bear witness and carry the message into the listener’s heart.
One of the greatest hindrances to sharing our faith is being afraid we don’t have the answers. Few people in other churches are experts in their own history or doctrine, and studies show that Latter-day Saints are incredibly well educated in their own faith by comparison.
When someone asks a question about the Church’s doctrine or history that we don’t know, it’s okay to say, “I don’t know.” But we can all share personal experiences to explain how we feel about our faith.
If we relate our own experiences about prayer or fasting or communicating effectively with our families, those experiences can’t be challenged. They are ours, and no one understands them better than we do.
Some people won’t approach a member with questions because they fear being roped into a half-hour lecture. If they ask a casual question, be sensitive to their interest, comfort, and level of understanding. Signaling our sensitivity at the outset can put those who are curious at ease.
Understand that the same conversation isn’t going to work for everyone due to differing backgrounds—religious, secular, and otherwise.
Members of the Church have an unprecedented opportunity to be a force for good in helping clear up misconceptions about what we are not and to increase others’ understanding of who we are and what we believe.
As people learn more about Latter-day Saint beliefs, they may see some distinct differences and yet find some unexpected common ground on which to build better relationships.

It was kind of a ritual. Win or lose, after a football game we’d all pile into my old green car and head for our favorite pizza restaurant. The place was always crowded, especially after a victory. That night, everybody was there after we defeated our rival school team.
By the time the football team arrived, the room was crowded with people. I managed to find a seat in the corner and started looking for Dave, my older brother.
Dave always seemed to be in the center of the action. His easy-going personality made people want to be around him. In the short time we had lived in Colorado, he’d been elected student-body president of our high school.
I wasn’t as popular as Dave in high school, but he often let me tag along with him and his friends—especially when I grew to be bigger than he was. It made me proud to be called “Dave’s big little brother.” As the crowd grew at the restaurant, I finally spotted Dave at a table near the center of the room. Suddenly, somebody yelled, “Hey, everybody, it’s Dave’s eighteenth birthday. He’s a man now.”
“Yeah, now he’s legal,” someone else added. At the time, the law in Colorado stated that if you were eighteen, you could legally buy and drink beer. For the handful of Mormons in our school, turning eighteen was just another birthday. For most of our classmates, though, becoming “legal” was a big event.
Slowly, people began to crowd around Dave’s table, and soon everybody was joining in a rowdy chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.”
“Close your eyes, Dave,” somebody yelled out. A path was cleared as a huge glass of foamy, golden beer was brought forward and thrust into Dave’s hands. The whole place erupted into wild cheers. From off in the corner, I watched Dave and wondered what he would do. He had always been my example. He’d always been faithful. Of course, he’d never faced a situation like this before. I watched him look around the room at the crowd surrounding him. I don’t think he saw me watching him back in the corner.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dave rose to his feet. He picked up the glass of beer and raised it slowly in the air. My heart was pounding with anticipation, and I imagined Dave’s was, too. Somebody yelled for quiet, and the place grew silent.
“I just want to thank everyone for thinking of me on my birthday,” Dave said, as he looked toward his raised glass. “But come on, you guys. You know me better than that. Thanks, anyway.” As Dave lowered the glass and sat down, a moan rumbled through the crowd. Somebody muttered something about Mormons not having any fun.
Later, I located Dave and we walked out into the crisp autumn air toward my car. “Dave, I was worried for a minute that you might crack under the pressure and do something stupid,” I said.
He just shrugged and said, “There wasn’t any big pressure because I didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. I’d already decided a long time ago that I was going to keep the Word of Wisdom. It’s a lot easier that way.”
I just smiled. As we drove home, I was as proud as ever to be Dave’s big little brother.

A few months ago I fell and cut myself. My mom and dad decided I needed to go to the doctor and get stitches. I was really scared and did not want to go because I knew the doctor was going to give me a shot.
Before we went to the doctor’s office, my dad gave me a blessing. The Holy Ghost comforted us and whispered to us that we should bring the Friend to read while we were waiting.
When we got to the doctor’s office, I was scared. I didn’t want to get stitches. I was crying a little bit. While the nurse was getting the doctor, I started to read from the Friend. It made me feel a lot better. I got six stitches, and it hurt a little, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I’m grateful that we listened to the Holy Ghost and took the Friend with us. I know that the Friend is my friend.Tanner Allred, age 7, with help from his familyLas Vegas, Nevada

As a 12-year-old boy, I had the privilege to serve as the secretary of my deacons quorum. I recall with joy the many assignments we members of that quorum had the opportunity to fill. Passing the sacred sacrament, collecting the monthly fast offerings, and looking after one another come readily to mind. The most frightening one, however, happened at the leadership session of our ward conference. The member of our stake presidency presiding was William F. Perschon. He called on a number of the ward officers to speak. Then, without the slightest warning, President Perschon stood and said, “We will now hear from Thomas S. Monson, secretary of the deacons quorum, to give us an accounting of his service and bear his testimony.” I don’t recall a thing I said, but I have never forgotten the experience.

The patriarch has no blessing of his own to give. We heard Elder LeGrand Richards tell of a patriarch who once said to a woman, “I have a wonderful blessing for you.” But when the patriarch laid his hands on the head of the recipient, his mind went completely blank. He apologized. “I was mistaken. I do not have a blessing for you. It is the Lord who has the blessing for you.” The woman came back the next day, and after the patriarch had prayerfully importuned the Lord, a blessing came that mentioned many concerns known only to this good sister. All blessings come from God. Our Heavenly Father knows His children. He knows their strengths and weaknesses. He knows their capabilities and potential. Our patriarchal blessings indicate what He expects of us and what our potential can be.