Gospel Story Finder

Barbados is a charming island belonging to the Lesser Antilles. On its beautiful beaches, as well as on other Caribbean islands, there are protection zones for sea turtles.
On a mission tour, we had the opportunity to visit the island. One morning, Norma and I went for a walk on the beach, which is in front of the hotel where we were staying. As we did, we saw one of the senior missionaries who was working on the side of the path that separates the beach from the road.
As we got closer, we asked her what she was doing. She told us: “A large turtle had spawned in that part of the beach. The tortoise had found a good place to lay its eggs. She covered them and then left.”
The challenge would be for the little turtles, who, at birth, would search for the ocean and a recently built pedestrian path that had left a slope, would be an impossible hurdle to avoid on their way to the ocean. On the other hand, during the night the little turtles would mistake the lights of the vehicles and the city for stars and when going towards them they would die either by the vehicles or by starvation going in the opposite direction of the ocean.
Inspired by the missionary, we set out to look for baby turtles. Some were trapped among the plants, others had died, and others were struggling to climb the causeway that separated them from the beach and the ocean. We rescued as many as we could. Some people passing by told us that what we were doing was a waste of time.
Later, in a service activity, the missionaries leveled that path so that in the future the turtles that were born could find their way to life.
Personally, I felt an indescribable joy at being able to hold a little turtle in my hands and put it on its way to the sea.

Rebecca loves music and ballroom dancing. Actually, Matthew loves music, too, and they often sing and play piano together. But ballroom dancing? More on that later.
Remember the ballroom dancing mentioned above? That’s where Matthew may have set the gold standard for sibling support. Not only did he practice ballroom dancing at home with Rebecca, he also learned a routine so that he could perform with another girl on a song Rebecca choreographed. When the ballroom dance club needed an extra member, Matthew joined. Now Rebecca relies on him when she tests routines: “I ask him if it will work or not, and together we figure it out.”
Not long ago, members of the club staged a workshop for the youth in Rebecca’s and Matthew’s ward. Rebecca took charge and got everyone involved. “And Matthew got to dance with all the girls!” Rebecca teases. Matthew just grins.

by Shirley F. Berlin
It was the night of the annual basketball game between the “Young Men” and their “Old Men” church leaders in the 30th Ward, Ogden Utah East Stake. In the stake center bleachers, ward members, families, and friends excitedly shouted encouragement to both teams.
Bob Blair of the Old Men had just connected, closing the Young Men’s lead to one point at 16–15, with 4:41 left in the second quarter.
“We’re going to walk away with it—take it from the coach,” Darold Rawson, Sr., of the Young Men said confidently.
The competition had begun five years before when the youth were planning a fund-raising project. They challenged their priesthood leaders to a game of basketball, certain that they could easily beat such out-of-shape old folks. But the Old Men won! A surprised group of Aaronic Priesthood boys immediately planned a comeback. They would have another game next year, and the next, and the next.
Over the years, the boys had grown stronger and taller, and their leaders had grown … well, older. The Young Men had won three times, and their leaders had won twice. This one could be anyone’s game.
Earlier in the evening, the excitement started as the Young Women introduced the players on each team with words from original songs. The Old Wives Cheerleaders waved their pom-poms. Dressed in jeans rolled to mid-calf, with shirts emblazoned with big “O’s”, they were poised for the grand entry of their husbands.
As the Old Men burst energetically through their “We’re the Greatest!” banner, the crowd went wild.
Then, all eyes turned to the opposite corner where the Young Men were eagerly waiting their turn behind the banner reading, “We’re #1.”
Unexpectedly, Zan Treasure casually tore an opening through which the boys stepped with dignity, one at a time. Then Mike Ward ceremoniously placed some steps a few feet from the basket and stood at attention. Suddenly, Jim Berlin streaked past and went up for a spectacular slam dunk. The fans roared as the Young Men sprang into action. Following the tip-off, Darold Rawson, Jr., quickly scored the first point.
Bishop Arlo Ward, who has played in all the games, said, “They’ve been highlights for me. They are an opportunity for the Young Men to really get the best of their leaders. They haven’t always done it, but as they have prepared and developed, they have given us a challenge. The games bring out a closeness that you don’t always get.”
When asked how many practices the Old Men had before the game, Bishop Ward smiled. “Zero. But we’re so good we don’t need any.”
However, his counselor Gary Saunders didn’t sound so confident. He admitted that when the Old Men heard that the game would be played on the large stake center floor instead of the small one in the ward cultural hall, “We decided to play with two teams—one defense and one offense so we wouldn’t have to run up and down that big court.”
The Young Men hadn’t had many more practices than their elders. Term papers, final exams, jobs, and dates interfered. However, some mornings at 5:30, the more eager ones jogged. On moonlit nights they played ball in the driveway of the home of three participating brothers. But even when the boys weren’t actually practicing, they were “psyching up.” In fact, one night after the youth had been boasting in the Elliott Berlin living room, Brother Berlin commented, “There’s enough hot air in here to dry a corn field.” But they won anyway.
All of the original Young Men will be on missions, married, or will have “graduated” to Old Men status by the next game. New loyalties will have to be formed as rivals become teammates. A different group of hopeful young players will challenge their leaders, and an enjoyable tradition will carry on.
Visitor Brenda Gilbertson summarized the feelings of many when she said, “I’m really impressed with your ward. You do such fun things. I can see why your boys stay active.”
Indeed, the 30th Ward surely demonstrates that a ward that plays together stays together.

Rebecca had to contend not only with her father’s disbelief but also with problems in her husband’s commitment to the faith. During 1837 and 1838, her husband, Frederick, then a member of the First Presidency, was repeatedly at odds with other Church leaders. He even left the Church for a time and was excommunicated. However, not long after, Frederick humbled himself, rejoined the Church, and died in full fellowship. We do not have a record of Rebecca’s feelings at the time, but she would not regret her allegiance with the Saints and remained committed.
When rumors of Frederick’s dissent reached Rebecca’s father in New York, Isaac hoped that Rebecca would renounce the faith as well. However, Rebecca sent him a letter that demonstrated her continued fidelity. After reading her response, Isaac slowly shook his head and said, “Not one word of repentance.”12

Many years later, in pursuit of my business career, I was invited by a client to provide insurance coverage for a new venture he was launching. When I arrived at the location, I learned that it was to be a nightclub.
As we passed through reception, entering the main area, I was impressed by the decor. The furnishings and fittings, curtains and carpeting were well coordinated, providing a most pleasing setting. This was not what I had expected to find after having been told the purpose for which the venue was to be used. As I sat with the proprietor, noting the necessary information, an employee approached and asked if he could test the systems.
My client gave his approval. Suddenly the serene setting was transformed as the room lighting faded to be replaced by flashing lights of multiple colors and excessively loud music. The scene of tranquility was immediately shattered.
It was impossible to communicate under such circumstances, so we walked back to the reception area. Following further discussion and because of what I had experienced, I did not feel comfortable to proceed, so I referred my client to a specialist in this field of insurance. To this day I vividly recall the dramatic transformation that occurred with shafts of light and the pulsating beat of loud music penetrating the darkened room.
I learned a lasting lesson from these experiences. Our surroundings can have a significant impact on how we feel and the way we behave.

Before I met Ben, I was nearing the age of missionary service and had seriously considered serving a full-time mission. But then Ben entered my life, and I knew that Heavenly Father had a different plan for me.
When Ben and I got engaged, relatives who knew about my thoughts to serve a mission asked me about my choice, and I would tell them, “I decided that I wanted to pick my own missionary companion—and stay with him for eternity.”
When you’re married, you and your spouse have the chance to participate in the work of salvation together. Ben and I have found great joy in building a Christ-centered home, studying and living the gospel together, serving in the Church, and inviting others to come unto Christ. As we work together to build the kingdom of God, we grow closer, our love deepens, and life is more fulfilling.

Hiki turned over on the broad shelf of snow that was her bed and buried her face deep in the fur sleeping bag to keep warm. She had not slept well, and the morning was much too fast in coming. As her mother lighted the seal oil lamp, Hiki peeked from under the fur to see the light sparkling on the snow ceiling of the igloo. She loved the way it glistened and imagined it was smiling at her, but this morning she didn’t smile back. Today I will walk on the bottom of the sea alone and I am afraid, she admitted to herself.
Many times when the tide was out she had gone with her mother under the sea ice to gather mussels. Always the giant shadows from the candlelight, the far away rumbling of the sea, and the strange undersea world had frightened her. But Mother had always been close-by to reassure her.
Today Hiki must lower herself under the ice alone. At the thought she buried her face even deeper into the fur blankets. She had never in her eleven years been sick. She had never even thought she would want to be sick, but this day she wished for a sore throat or a headache, anything that would keep her at home.
“Hiki,” Mother called, “it is time to arise.”
Hiki peeked out of the fur once more. Her mind raced, trying to find a reason to stay in the warm bed, but she could think of nothing.
All of her friends had gathered mussels alone on the ocean floor. Hiki had heard them tell of the fun it was, but to Hiki it could never be fun.
“Hiki?” Mother called again. “There is much to do.”
Slowly Hiki crawled from the sleeping bag. Quickly she put on her clothes made of caribou skins and her socks of baby sealskins. She began chewing on her caribou hide boots to thaw and soften them so she could put them on.
“It’s so nice to have a daughter who is now old enough to help,” Hiki’s mother said, smiling and patting her daughter’s shoulder. “Today I will sew while you go for the mussels.”
Hiki wished she could tell her mother how she felt, but she couldn’t. She wanted her mother to be proud, and who could be proud of an Innuit girl who was afraid to enter the under-ice world alone?
Hiki lingered over her seal meat breakfast much longer than usual. She poked a hole in the snow walls and looked out, hoping to see a terrible blizzard, but the day was beautiful with few clouds and little wind.
“A nice day for making snow statues,” Hiki commented.
“After you bring the mussels,” Mother said. “You must hurry now or you will miss the tide.”
Slowly Hiki put on her fur coat and mittens. Then taking a candle, matches, shovel, long ice chisel, and a pan, she removed the ice block from the tunnel that led into the igloo and crawled out. Once outside she listened as Mother slid the ice block back into place. Never before had she felt so alone.
Carefully she placed her tools on a small sled. Then, pulling the sled, she started for the ice-covered beach. With each step her heart beat harder and her breath came faster. Her hands began to perspire inside her mittens and her knees felt weak. She reached the beach much faster than she wanted to, then stepped beyond the beach ice to the thick, snow-covered sea ice. It was bumpy and covered with ridges caused by the terrible pounding of the sea. Hiki brushed away the snow on several of the ridges until she found one that had a big crack. Taking her chisel, she chipped at the crack until a hole about two feet wide was made.
As the last piece of ice fell, the girl jerked away. There was no longer anything between her and the ocean floor. I must go down, she agonized. But what if the tide comes in before I get out? What horrid creatures are lurking on the sea bottom? What if I get lost and can’t find the hole to get out?
Hiki’s stomach rocked and churned. She knew that she must go down to the sea floor, but also that she couldn’t do it alone. For a moment she closed her eyes tightly. “Please help me to do what I must do,” she prayed.
Then, taking her equipment, the girl lowered herself under the ice before her fear could stop her. Hiki’s hands shook, but after three tries she managed to light the candle. Carefully she picked her way over the pools of water and slimy seaweed until she saw a string of blue black mussel shells embedded in the sandy seafloor.
“This is a good place,” Hiki muttered, a feeling of confidence replacing some of the fear. “There are enough mussels here to fill my pan, and I will not have to go far from the opening I made.”
As she spoke, the words echoed eerily through the ice-covered cavern. The echo was strange and scary, but somehow it was more comforting than the stillness. She placed the candle between two rocks and hurriedly gathered mussels until her pan was almost full.
Several times as she worked she was startled by a glimpse of her own shadow, big and black against the smooth sea walls. But by the time the pan was full, the fear had eased. She stood for a moment and listened to the angry rumbling of the faraway sea.
“The tide is coming in,” she said, and hurriedly tossed the last two mussels into the pan. Gathering up her tools, Hiki found the hole and, with a sigh of relief, lifted herself back into the cold-white world she loved.
“It is done,” she whispered.
Looking proudly at the overflowing pan, Hiki sat down on the small sled. For a moment she did nothing but enjoy the warm feeling of accomplishment.
“I have done what I feared to do,” she declared, and then her face broke into a soft smile. Closing her eyes tightly she whispered, “Thank You for helping me. Next time it will not be so hard.”

Seventeen-year-old Brandon Frampton shared an experience about simply saying thank you.
“At my high school, I usually eat in the cafeteria. Every day I get in line, buy my lunch, eat, and leave. One day I felt impressed to say thank you to the lady who was serving me my lunch. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but later I learned that because of my remark she had a much better day. I still always say thank you, and I have noticed others doing the same now. Everyone can make a difference.”

“You win.”
I had just come out of the hotel’s elevator with my date. It was my high school senior prom—the day I had been looking forward to for months. The dinner and accompanying dance were held on the top floor of a local hotel in my hometown in upstate New York. Balloon arches and a long, red carpet led the way into the ballroom where the dance was being held.
“Excuse me?” I asked, looking around for the source of the voice. It was my science teacher, Mr. Keenan.
“You win,” he repeated.
Laughing, I asked him what it was I had won.
“You have the most beautiful dress I have ever seen,” he responded. “I want that dress for my daughters when they go to prom.”
“Oh, I’m sure he tells every girl that,” I thought, smiling.
Continuing, he said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but not many of the dresses I’ve seen so far tonight cover very much.”
I was a little taken aback by his comment. It was obvious that my dress was modest, but I didn’t think that others would care. I thanked him and continued into the dance.
Later in the evening, my date and I went to the photographer for pictures. When it was our turn to pose, the photographer looked at me and said, “Wow, what a gorgeous dress.”
“I’m sure you tell every girl that her dress is gorgeous,” I said, voicing my earlier thoughts.
“Oh no,” his voice was serious. “I rarely tell a girl her dress is gorgeous.”
Rewind eight months to the previous fall. I knew my senior prom was going to be at the end of that school year, and in my excitement I started searching for a prom dress in September.
My friends and I spent several Saturdays shopping at local stores and trying on their selection of formal dresses. But in my hometown, finding a formal dress that went to at least the knees, wasn’t cut too low in the front or back, had sleeves, and was cute was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
I could have rationalized wearing an immodest dress—it was just one night, only immodest dresses were available, and all of my friends would be wearing them. But I felt uncomfortable just trying them on, and I knew I would be uncomfortable the whole night of prom if I did wear one.
I started looking harder. I knew it would be difficult to find something in local stores, so I turned to the Internet. It took a bit of searching, but after a while, I found the dress of my dreams.
It was a little more expensive than the immodest dresses I had tried on, and I had to get a job to pay for it. But when I received it in the mail and tried it on, it fit perfectly and I felt comfortable. I knew I had made the right decision.
When I walked into prom that night, I never once felt uncomfortable. And I was grateful that I had chosen to stay modest. As my teacher said, I had won.

It was a Sunday afternoon near the end of my mission, and I was washing the dinner dishes in Recife, Brazil. For some reason, I began to think about the Saints in Nauvoo. I remembered that after all their sacrifices and work to construct their temple, they had to flee Nauvoo, leaving the temple and their homes behind. I marveled at the great faith of these people. In the midst of their trials, they continued to have confidence in Heavenly Father and to do all He asked of them.
Then the thought came to my mind: If Father in Heaven someday took something precious away, something for which you had sacrificed, would you rebel?
I was surprised at the question, not knowing why I had asked it. I tried to imagine myself among the Saints in Nauvoo, feeling what they felt. I concluded that I did not know what my reaction would be, but I sincerely desired to have sufficient faith to always accept God’s will. I had no idea that just such a test would confront me that very night.
A few days before, while pondering what I would do after my mission, I had decided to pursue a career in music. Before my mission, I had practiced as much as six hours each day on the piano and had completed course work at a music academy. Just recently, my teacher had sent me a letter, promising to help me launch a career as a pianist.
We had three baptisms arranged for that night. Our meetinghouse did not have a baptismal font, making it necessary for us to go to the center of Recife to hold the baptismal services. It rained much that night, and as the city was experiencing a shortage of gasoline, it was difficult to find a taxi. It was getting late, and I began to worry. Suddenly I saw a taxi a block away and ran in its direction. The rain moistened my glasses, and I did not see a popcorn vendor crossing my path. When I finally saw his cart, I could not stop and I crashed into it. I suffered a very deep cut on my left wrist and was taken to the emergency room at the hospital.
There I discovered that the tendons had been cut. Two fingers on my left hand were paralyzed. Because a surgery room wasn’t available, I was not able to have an operation immediately. Since I would be returning to my home in a few days, the doctors just sutured the wound and instructed me to seek a specialist in São Paulo.
On my return home, I received a priesthood blessing from my father and was attended by the best hand surgeon in São Paulo. My recuperation was excellent, and after much physical therapy I was able to return to playing the piano. But I had no illusions about a professional career. My life followed another path instead. Today I am a neurologist with the training and opportunity to help many people.
I believe God had a plan for my life different from what I had anticipated. When we “trust in the Lord with all [our] heart,” I know “he shall direct [our] paths” for our good (Prov. 3:5–6).

“We’re number one!” shouted the cheerleader at a high school football game. I admired her straight teeth and perfect smile. I watched as she laughed and talked to the girls and flirted with the boys.

“It must be glorious to be her,” I thought, reflecting on my own loneliness. My father’s job required us to move every three to five years, so it was hard for my sister and me to form lasting friendships.

The cheerleader had a reputation for dressing immodestly and going to drinking parties. Watching her, I began to ache for the popularity that I thought she represented. I wanted friends so badly that for one fleeting moment I wondered if I should lower my standards to become like her.

While my sister and I drove home, I was wallowing in self-pity, and I prayed in my heart to Heavenly Father. I asked Him to tell me the secret that would take away my loneliness and insecurity. Although I wasn’t a Church member at this time, I had a strong faith in God.

Immediately came into my mind the idea, “Stop thinking about yourself.”

“That’s the secret?” I thought disappointedly. “How can that help me to become popular?”

Later that week, I read about charity in 1 Corinthians 13. It helped me understand that Heavenly Father was trying to teach me to have charity toward others rather than focus on how they were treating me. I took the characteristics of charity listed there and put them to work. When I did this, I found that my whole school experience changed. Here are some of the valuable things I learned.

I tried to become more patient with people at school. One boy teased me during gym class, but I tried to meet his ill will with kindness and smiles. Eventually he stopped teasing me. By the end of the year, we became good friends.

I had always admired a girl in my class who was friendly to everyone, no matter how popular or unpopular they were. I began to follow her example and look for opportunities to show kindness to others.

My sister and I were jealous of the talents of a basketball player in our school, and we used to make cutting remarks about her. I decided to start rejoicing in her victories instead. I also began to develop my own talents. When I did these things, I lost my bitter burden, and I was much happier.

I sometimes thought I was better than some people because I lived higher moral standards. When I thought about the Savior, who was meek and loved all people, I decided to change my attitude. As I tried to be humble and kind, people began to make the effort to be my friend.

I loved the Lord and had high moral standards. I decided that compromising these standards would make me unhappy.

Once, a teacher made a comment that hurt my feelings. Rather than reacting, I asked her if she was having a hard day. She admitted that she was and then apologized. Those comments had come from her personal problems and had nothing to do with me.

One thing my Latter-day Saint friends taught me was that gossiping and spreading lies is evil. I tried to avoid gossip and changed the subject whenever someone started to say unkind things.

I began to see the good in people and be optimistic. When I made this attitude change, people began to feel uplifted around me. This made them want to associate with me more often.

When my sister became seriously ill and lost her ability to walk normally, many of her friends abandoned her because she walked funny. I saw her heartbreak, and I realized the importance of sticking with people through tough times.

When I practiced charity in my relationships, I developed many true and lasting friendships. My loneliness disappeared, and I realized popularity was nothing compared to the real treasure of friendship and respect that comes from living gospel principles.

I am thankful for a Father in Heaven who took the time to teach a sophomore in high school the secret of gaining friendships that would last.

Our leaders cheerily greeted us with a smile and handed everyone pieces of paper. Looking down, I saw a mournful face in a very bad, very old photograph on a paper. Next to the small picture was the story of Bodil Mortinsen. She had traveled with the Willie Handcart Company in October of 1856. I had been assigned Bodil’s name. I folded up Bodil’s biography and stuck it in my pocket.
...
We stood there in silence. Suddenly, I realized that I had not read Bodil Mortinsen’s story. I carefully pulled out the wilted paper and looked again at the mournful black-and-white face. I read her story. I stood where she had stood and envisioned her grieving over a lost parent or brother or friend. At the bottom of the page, I read:
“Two of those buried at Rock Creek Hollow were heroic children of tender years: Bodil Mortinsen, age nine, from Denmark, and James Kirkwood, age eleven, from Scotland.
“Bodil apparently was assigned to care for some small children as they crossed Rocky Ridge. When they arrived at camp, she must have been sent to gather firewood. She was found frozen to death leaning against the wheel of their handcart, clutching sagebrush” (President James E. Faust [1920–2007], Second Counselor in the First Presidency, “A Priceless Heritage,” Ensign, Nov. 1992, 84–85).
I had imagined Bodil standing here, perhaps mourning the loss of a family member. Now I realized that she hadn’t stood here at all. She was buried here.

Trying to find his father’s golf balls, which he had lost, is one of Michael Antone Neider’s first memories concerning the development of his faith.
Growing up in the small farming community of Tyhee, Idaho, he had sneaked his father’s golf clubs out of the garage and hit all the golf balls into their horse pasture. “I had no idea it would be so hard to find those balls in the tall grass. I felt a pressing need for divine help. After praying I went back out and found all but one of them, as well as a never-to-be-forgotten lesson that God loves me.”
Brother Neider says he’s not sure if the Lord would help him find those balls today. “As I’ve learned and grown, the Lord has expected more from me. I feel He has taught me to use more wisdom and faith in moving closer to Him.”

Kevin and Jacqueline S., a brother and sister in El Salvador, are the best of friends, and they stick together in everything. They have a great love for the gospel and for their family. They want their family to be together forever.
When Kevin and Jacqueline were younger, people at church would ask their father, “When are you going to be sealed in the temple?” And he would respond, “When there is a temple in El Salvador.”
However, by the time the San Salvador El Salvador Temple was announced in 2007, Kevin and Jacqueline’s parents had stopped attending church. But Kevin, now 18, and Jacqueline, 15, kept going to church, praying that one day their parents would return.
“I never stopped praying and asking Heavenly Father that they would become active again,” Jacqueline says. “I know Heavenly Father wants the best for us, and He wants us to be an eternal family.”
They also tried to be good examples for their parents. “I never lost hope,” Kevin says. “I always read the scriptures and prayed, and my parents would see me study and leave to go do home teaching visits and to go to Church activities. As I worked to keep the commandments and to progress, my parents saw my example.”
Kevin and Jacqueline’s prayers for their parents began to be answered as the temple neared completion. “When our leaders announced the dedication and cultural celebration, we invited our parents,” Kevin says. “We told them about the privilege we would have as youth to participate, and this motivated them a lot and helped them progress spiritually.”
In addition to attending the cultural celebration, the family was also able to attend the temple open house.
“Even though my parents hadn’t been going to church, they still view the Church and the gospel as something sacred,” Kevin says. “When we entered the temple, my father began explaining to my sisters and me that when we enter the temple, we wear white and that this is where we perform sacred ordinances.”
Kevin was amazed that his two-year-old sister, who normally has a lot of energy, remained quiet while they were inside the temple, and he noticed how his mother had tears in her eyes as she viewed the different rooms and paintings. When the family entered a sealing room, a volunteer tour guide explained to them that this is where families are sealed together forever.
“Our little sister then began to touch each one of us and say, ‘My mom, my dad, my Kevin, my Jacqueline,’” says Jacqueline. “It was like Heavenly Father spoke through her to tell us that we are all hers.”
“Then she hugged us and started giving us kisses and pointing to the mirrors,” Kevin says. “We looked at ourselves together in the mirrors, and it was amazing. When we left the sealing room that day, we made a goal to be able to get back there.”
After attending the temple open house, the family began making some changes. “Since we went to the temple, our family has regained perspective,” Kevin says. “Since then we have been having family home evening, and our parents are bringing us to church and sitting with us on the front row of the chapel.”
In August 2011, Kevin and Jacqueline felt blessed to sit with their parents in the stake center as they viewed the broadcast of the temple dedication.
“When the temple was announced in 2007, my parents were less active, and I thought I would never have the opportunity to be with them at the dedication,” Kevin says. “When they were sitting with me, I could really feel that Heavenly Father had answered my prayers. To be there with my family was one of the greatest blessings I have had in my life.”
“This experience of the temple has strengthened me,” Jacqueline says. “What has strengthened me more than anything is seeing that the temple changes lives, because it helped my parents become active in the Church again. Now we have made the goal that we will be sealed in the temple. I know Heavenly Father wants the best for us.”

My friend’s father worked as a mechanic. His honest labor showed even in his carefully washed hands. One day someone at a temple told my friend’s father he should clean his hands before serving there. Instead of being offended, this good man began to scrub the family dishes by hand with extra soapy water before attending the temple. He exemplifies those who “ascend into the hill of the Lord” and “stand in his holy place” with the cleanest of hands and the purest of hearts.16

When you think about being fashionably dressed, you probably think about exotic places—places like Milan, London, Paris, and New York. Or, if you’re not into high fashion, you might think about places a little closer to home. Perhaps the local shopping mall or discount store are the first places that pop into your mind when you need new clothes.
But it’s probably pretty safe to say that no matter who you are, when you think about new clothes, Slidell, Louisiana, doesn’t figure into your thoughts.
Unless, of course, Slidell is where you live.
Some of the youth in Slidell were having a difficult time keeping the standard of wearing modest clothing. And while it’s true that modesty can be a challenge no matter where you live, in Slidell it can be particularly difficult.
“It gets very hot here,” says Kelly Skinner. “Even when you know your standards, it can be a temptation to wear immodest clothing.”
And it’s not just the weather that makes it difficult.
“Most of us go to school with just one or two other members,” says Kristen Davis. “Sometimes you feel like you’re the only one who is trying to be modest. It can make you feel kind of weird.”
Many of the youth in Slidell were wearing modest clothing despite the challenges. But with fashion trends leaning toward short, sleeveless, or otherwise inappropriate styles, the Slidell Louisiana Stake youth committee decided to take action.
“We tried to find a way to make modest dressing fun,” says Kristen.
As the youth committee met together to find a solution to the problem of immodest and inappropriate dress, they talked about why the youth in their stake might choose clothing that isn’t in keeping with Church standards.
“First, we decided that part of the problem is that to find modest clothing, you have to work a little harder,” says Kristen, who serves on the youth committee. “In most stores, there will be lots of immodest choices and only a few modest ones.”
But the youth committee knew there were ways to dress well without compromising standards. After all, most of them were doing it successfully—their closets were full of good examples. And what better way to demonstrate good fashion sense than by putting on a fashion show?
“None of us who are participating as models went out and bought new clothes,” says Shawna Windom. “We all just went to our closets and pulled out things that we wear all the time.”
But the fashion show was only part of the answer to this problem.
“It can be really hard to keep your standards when you feel as if you’re the only one doing it,” says Aaron Martin, another youth committee member. “We wanted to somehow create a feeling of unity so that when the people from our stake are at school, they’ll remember that they’re not living the standards all by themselves.”
So Aaron talked with other youth in his ward, and he and his friend Jacob Snell read For the Strength of Youth. Then he and Jacob wrote a contract of sorts; those who signed it would agree to live the dress standards they outlined.
“Some guys think that modesty is only a standard for girls to keep,” says Jacob. “But how you dress sends messages to other people, and that’s true for boys and girls. It shows other people that you respect them, as well as yourself, when you dress appropriately.”
The night of the fashion show, the runway is ready, the refreshments are waiting, and there is a bit of chaos in the dressing rooms. With youth modeling everything from jeans to prom dresses and tuxedos, it’s hard to navigate the hallways. But even with all the excitement, it’s easy to see that the youth are not only modestly dressed but fashionably dressed as well.
Homemade New Era posters, touting the benefits of dressing modestly and appropriately, line the cultural hall walls. The lights dim slightly, and the music begins to play. Boys model clothing suitable for hiking—shorts that reach the knees and heavy boots—as well as appropriate attire for passing the sacrament. Girls wear everything from jeans and sneakers to dresses for the spring formal.
When the show ends, everyone has a chance to sign the modesty agreement. As a reminder of the promise they’ve made, everyone receives a CTR ring. Throughout the year, the agreement will be displayed at stake dances and other events to remind the youth of what they’ve agreed to.
“Being in this program has made me think a little differently about making clothing choices,” says Krystina Quist. “I think I’m more careful about what I choose when I’m in the store now.”
Many of the young men also felt that the fashion show was a worthwhile effort.
“I’m glad we did this activity,” says Bradley Hogan. “I feel good when I follow the standards, and I’m glad this might help other people do it too.”
For most of the youth in Slidell, the fashion show and modesty agreement won’t mean a huge change. Perhaps just a few items of clothing will be thrown out or forgotten, and maybe a little more thought will go into clothing selection. But for the most part, this lesson was just an enhancement for an already great group of youth.
“The kids at school know who we are,” says Shawna. “They watch what we do, and dressing modestly just makes us seem like a class act.”
So from now on, when you seek fashion inspiration, you might look a little further than pictures of runway models wearing the creations of fancy designers. Think about a youth group in Louisiana helping each other stay strong. Then think about yourself and the clothes hanging in your closet. They may not be high fashion, but if they are in keeping with high standards, it will be just the kind of style you want.

Nodoka T.

“I was nervous when the counselor asked me to go to stake Young Women camp for the first time,” says Nodoka T. of Okinawa, Japan. “I decided to pray. After my prayer I felt comfortable, so I decided to go.
“From the very first day, I was able to make new friends. The young women were so nice and kind to me; my fear soon disappeared. And I learned to purify water, tie knots, make bandages, perform rescue breathing, and find edible plants!”

Hannah held tightly to her mother’s hand. “It’s OK, Hannah. I can go with you to Primary,” Mom said.
Hannah looked around the chapel. She didn’t like this new building. But mostly she didn’t like not knowing anyone.
Last Sunday, Dad had gone with her to Primary. There were only boys in her class. But the teacher said that there was a girl who should be back in class this week. Hannah tried to peek around the tall grown-ups to see the girl who might be in her class.
Suddenly Hannah felt a tap on her elbow. She turned around and saw a girl who was just her height and wore her hair in two long braids.“My name is Natalie,” she said. “Sister Davis said that you were in our Primary class. You can come with me.”
The girl took hold of Hannah’s hand. Hannah looked at Mom. “Thank you for helping Hannah,” Mom said, smiling at Natalie.Hannah swallowed hard and let Natalie lead her out of the chapel.“Now I’m not the only girl in our class,” Natalie said. “Will you be my friend?”“Yes,” Hannah said with a big smile.In sharing time, Natalie sat down next to four boys. Natalie patted the chair next to her so Hannah would sit by her.
“Hi, Natalie,” a boy said.“Hi, Tait,” Natalie said. “This is my new friend Hannah.”Sister Walker asked everyone to sing “When Jesus Christ Was Baptized.” Hannah smiled. She had learned that song in her old Primary. “That’s my favorite song,” she told Natalie.“Tait and I like it too,” Natalie said.Hannah sang with Natalie and Tait. Sister Walker held up pictures of Jesus. Hannah smiled. Maybe she liked this new Primary after all.

My name is Christopher. My feet jump, jump, jump, and run, run, run, and hop, hop hop, so much that Mom calls me Chris-hopper.
On Sunday, Mom said, “Chris-hopper, it’s time to be Christopher. Tell your feet to slow down.
I told them, but they forgot.
On Monday, Mom and I went to the zoo. We saw giraffes, lions, elephants, and monkeys. Best of all, I liked to watch the kangaroos hop. I call them roo-hoppers. Then we saw a giant turtle moving oh … so … slow. I call it a no-hopper. It gave me an idea.
On the next Sunday, I put on my best clothes and my best shoes. Then I taped a little picture of a turtle on the toe of each shoe. “No-hoppers!” I exclaimed and ran to show Mom. She gave me the thumbs-up.
At church, I looked at the turtles on my shoes and said to my feet, “No-hoppers at church.” Now my feet remember to walk in the meetinghouse.
But when I go outside, I’m Chris-hopper again.

Years ago I read a Time magazine article that reported the discovery of a letter, supposedly written by Martin Harris, that conflicted with Joseph Smith’s account of finding the Book of Mormon plates.
A few members left the Church because of the document.
Sadly, they left too quickly. Months later experts discovered (and the forger confessed) that the letter was a complete deception. You may understandably question what you hear on the news, but you need never doubt the testimony of God’s prophets.