Gospel Story Finder

From a distance, the future site of Ryan’s Place Park looked like a bumpy field of holes and unnaturally bright grass. But if you looked more closely, you just might see a shovel or a head pop out of one of the holes, and then you’d notice you weren’t looking at grass at all—you were actually seeing more than 200 teens in neon green T-shirts.
Such was the scene at the Providence Utah Stake youth conference. This year, in addition to spiritual firesides, dances, and games, the youth spent several hours up to their elbows in dirt and rocks—lots of rocks—preparing an empty field to become a memorial park.
Volunteers from across Cache Valley (in northern Utah) donated time and money to design and build Ryan’s Place Park, but first someone needed to dig the foundations for the playground supports. That’s where the Providence stake youth came in.
The youth took this message to heart when they arrived at Ryan’s Place Park. Digging more than 100 deep, narrow holes would not be easy. And the soil they dug in didn’t help matters, since it contained more rocks than dirt.
“Each hole took tremendous effort because the ground was so rocky,” explains Becca Smith from the River Heights Second Ward.
Instead of backing away from the challenge, the youth found creative ways to dig. “Some were in holes up to their shoulders, while others were being held by their ankles as they reached down into the bottom of holes to remove rocks,” says Jano Rees from the River Heights Third Ward.
David Thunell, who is from the River Heights Fourth Ward, was impressed by the positive attitudes he saw around him. “Never before have I seen so many teenagers working together with such determination and without complaint,” he recalls.
Kyra Moon, who is from the Fruitland Acres Ward, found that same attitude within herself. “As I crouched in a three-foot deep hole, armed with a plastic cup to get the rocks and dirt out, it hit me that I really wanted to dig holes right then. I wanted to do whatever I could to help.”
All that digging did more than strengthen their physical muscles. The youth realized it was also developing their testimonies and sense of unity.
“It was so inspiring to see so many people dressed in green T-shirts, devoting a few hours of their lives to honor someone they might not have even known,” Kyra says. “We were all of one heart and one mind, working toward a common goal, and we were all happy. It was just like Zion.”
Lindsay Bagley of the Providence First Ward agrees. “I looked out among the youth of my stake, my friends, and I saw hundreds of us all working together to dig holes, and I knew that this was what we were supposed to be doing. We were supposed to be building up our community and building up each other.”
Many of the youth, like Alyna Briscoe of the Providence Eighth Ward and Zac Hendrickson of the River Heights Second Ward, felt the spirit of community so strongly that they came back later that week to finish the park.
Benjamin Allred of the Providence First Ward learned about the joy that comes from service, especially when that service includes hard work. “Digging holes was not what you would call fun, but it didn’t need to be, because it was so satisfying.”
Becca Smith is grateful that this experience helped her gain perspective. “Service has a way of showing me what is important and what isn’t. I can see in more focus where my priorities are and how I need to change.”
For Kyra Moon, building the park became a chance to build a stronger testimony. She now better understands how she can be an instrument in God’s hands through service.
“God used us to help heal broken hearts,” she says. “It’s wonderful that something good came out of this tragedy, and it’s a testimony to me that Heavenly Father cares about us and understands our needs.”
Alex Keith of the Cobblestone First Ward says he has gained a stronger testimony of Jesus Christ. “I have more faith in God than I have ever had before, and I know without a doubt that my Savior lives.”
“I know that Jesus Christ took upon Himself my sins and died for me so that I may have eternal life,” adds Jenna Rounds of the River Heights Fourth Ward. “He died so that all may live again and so that we can be with our loved ones forever.”
After so many hours of digging through rocky soil to create a more solid foundation, these youth better understand the importance of building their lives around the Savior.
“I need to have a solid foundation of rock so that when Satan tries to confuse me about my values, I can do what I know is right,” Jenna says. “The Savior is my rock. In spite of all my weaknesses, He makes me strong.”

Gracie felt like she had been waiting in line at the fabric store forever! She was ready to go home and play with her toys. Then she saw a girl in line in front of her. The girl looked a little older than Gracie. She had braces on her legs and used crutches to help her stand. She turned and smiled. Gracie smiled back.
As they were leaving, Gracie was surprised when Mom reached out to stop the other mom.
“Excuse me,” Mom said, “Could I ask why your daughter is using crutches?”
Spina bifida is a problem with the way a baby’s spinal cord grows before birth. It can cause problems with legs, feet, or hips.
The other mom smiled. “This is Saylor, and she has spina bifida.”
Gracie’s eyes opened wide as she looked at Saylor. “This is Gracie, and she has spina bifida too,” Mom said.
Saylor’s mom smiled at Gracie. “Do you have an owie on your back?”
Gracie nodded. She had a long scar on her back from a surgery she’d had right after she was born.
The two moms started talking. Gracie heard words like surgery and treatments. Gracie grinned at Saylor and said hi. Gracie liked Saylor right away. She learned that Saylor was nine, and she was nice. Gracie knew they would be great friends.
Finally they all said goodbye to each other. Gracie heard their moms make plans to meet again soon. She could hardly wait!
Back in the car, Mom said, “You know the surgery you’re going to have soon? Well, Saylor had that surgery, and she’s doing great! I felt the Holy Ghost tell me I should talk to her mom, and I’m glad I did.”
“Me too!” Gracie said.
Gracie loved playing with Saylor. Even though Gracie was five, she and Saylor had lots to talk about. And Mom and Dad talked with Saylor’s parents a lot too—mostly about the big surgery.
Thinking about the surgery made Gracie feel scared. She thought about the long scar on her back. She couldn’t remember that surgery, but she would remember this one. She hoped it would make her better. Saylor had told her that everything would be OK.
A few weeks later, Gracie went to the hospital to get ready for the surgery. The halls of the hospital were bright and happy. There were paintings of blue whales and other fun pictures on the walls. Gracie met with doctors and nurses who explained the surgery to her. She practiced moving the bed up and down and played with the remote for her little TV. They told her she could order chocolate milk every day! Maybe the surgery wouldn’t be so bad.
When Gracie got home, she made a little hospital bed with her pillow and a laundry basket. She got a tray of snacks and pretended she was at the hospital. It would be fun. She tried not to think about the surgery.
A few days before surgery, Gracie got a card from Saylor. She had drawn a picture of Gracie with Saylor and Heavenly Father and Jesus. It said, “Remember that Heavenly Father will make you brave.”
Gracie hugged her card tight. Saylor helped her be brave. Gracie knew Heavenly Father could help her be brave for the surgery too.

Tom was eight and I was six when we saw our first rodeo. We drove to Saskatoon in our Ford truck and fought to sit next to Dad. It was a great journey for Tom and me, like a trip to Alaska—almost.
I don’t remember much of the day, except the ride and the barrel man (a barrel man dresses like a clown and distracts the bulls when the cowboys fall off).
Well, a bull had thrown some cowboy and the barrel man was twisting and dancing, pulling the big bull away from the guy on the ground. Then the bull turned fast, unexpected. The barrel man twisted again, sprinted, then dove into a barrel headfirst just as the bull knocked it across the arena floor.
I could feel the ground shake, even in the stands. There was silence. And then the clown stuck his head out of the barrel and blew the bull a raspberry. We laughed about that all the way home.
The next day the rodeo came to our backyard. “The Bull Rider and the Barrel Man” game was Tom’s idea; and Leonard, our German shepherd, was as good a bull as we could have hoped for. Whoever played the bull rider would lie helpless on the ground as Leonard tried to bite his ears. Meanwhile, the barrel man hopped back and forth trying to distract the “bull.”
Finally, Leonard would take off after the barrel man and the two would race around our old, plastic garbage can until the “bull” got too close. Then the barrel man could dive in.
Tom and I took turns. Leonard could catch me, but not Tom. He was too quick. He was a great barrel man.
Tom even dressed for the part. He would paint his face and wear cutoff jeans and an ugly Hawaiian shirt with big red ferns plastered all over it. He looked like a real barrel man.
The years passed. Tom turned 14, and I was almost 12. Over those years my brother never lost his love of the game. We would play “Bull Rider and the Barrel Man” all summer, along with the rest of our summertime activities. Some nights we’d play well past dark, when the yellow glow of the porch light made us all look bigger than we really were.
“Getting late,” Tom said one summer evening, a Saturday. Leonard was asleep at our feet and dusk was approaching quickly. Behind us our shadows faded all the way to the house.
“You’re getting slower,” I said. “I mean, he almost got you that time.”
“Ahhhh,” Tom said, smiling. “I saved your life at least a dozen times today.” The red mud we have in Saskatchewan caked Tom’s face. It looked like barn paint had spilled and dried on him and his clown clothes.
“Church tomorrow,” I said. Tom nodded.
We looked out onto the prairie and didn’t say anything for a while. The wheat fields stretched unbroken to the start of the dark blue sky and I daydreamed. I thought about the prairie, how it could have been a lonely place if I didn’t have a brother like Tom.
“One day I’m gonna be in the rodeo,” said Tom. “Be a real barrel man.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said.
Tom shifted from one leg to the other, then back again. He started rocking. He was always moving.
“We should ride over to the creek tomorrow,” Tom said. “And fish and stuff.” It was a strange thing to say. We never did anything like that on Sunday.
“Sure,” I said, though I really wasn’t too sure.
Tom brought his hand down on the side of his jeans, making a loud slap. “Ha, ha, ha!” he laughed. “Maybe we can go early and catch us a tasty catfish.”
“Yeah,” I laughed.
Then I waited for Tom to say something else, but he didn’t. I didn’t know what Tom was thinking. Mom and Dad wouldn’t like the idea of us taking off, missing church, breaking the Sabbath. I hoped he’d forget the whole thing by morning.
Tom’s voice woke me the next morning. I looked over and Mom was feeling his forehead while he moaned and made a series of pitiful faces.
“Stomachache,” he growled.
“I’ll stay home with you,” said Mom.
“No, that’s okay.” He quickly added, “I don’t want you to miss church, Mom.”
She felt Tom’s forehead again and shook her head. “No fever. I’ll get you some cereal.” She left for the kitchen and Tom leaned close to me.
“Tell her you need to stay home too,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to lie,” I said, as Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t mind going to church. We can ride over to the creek tomorrow.”
“Don’t be a baby.” Tom was getting mad. “Tell her you’ve got the same thing or, um, or I’ll never talk to you again.”
Mom came back in with Tom’s breakfast.
“You’d better get yourself something,” she said to me. I didn’t say anything. I just sat frozen in my bed, looking at my feet.
Tom spoke up. “I don’t think he feels good either.”
“Your stomach hurts too?” Mom asked. I looked at her and saw the concern on her face. I wasn’t looking at Tom, but I felt his eyes on me. I didn’t want to make Tom mad at me, but I didn’t want to lie. And though I’d never thought about it before, I didn’t really want to miss church.
“Nah, I’m okay. I think I can go.”
Tom wouldn’t talk to me when we left, but as I walked by our room he mouthed the word “Baby.”
Tom didn’t say anything to me for three days. He left early in the morning and stayed at a friend’s house until dark. At supper, he wouldn’t look up from his food or talk to anyone. I’d never seen Tom that quiet. Usually he was a comic, full of life and words.
After breakfast and chores Thursday I climbed into our private den above the barn. Earlier that summer Tom and I had painted the walls with some leftover yellow paint and made our own furniture out of the paint cans and some broken fence boards. In the rafters there were a dozen sparrow nests. Dad said we could clean out the nests, but we left them alone. It was their room first. And they were part of what made it a great room.
Outside the wind was blowing across the endless brown prairie. It was whining through the cracks in the walls, stirring dust bowls on the floor. I was alone, and I felt that loneliness swelling in me. I choked on a sob and shook my head.
“No blubbering,” I whispered, and picked up our half-finished U.S.S. Lexington model from the table. Tom and I hadn’t gotten around to putting in the bridge yet.
“That’s mine,” said Tom. I spun around. Tom stood in the doorway.
“It’s mine too,” I said.
Tom slumped down on one of our paint-can chairs. “Ah, you can have it.”
I put the model down and looked up at the sparrows. “Ain’t you going out today?” I asked. Tom didn’t answer. “We could go to the creek if you want.”
“Nah,” he said.
I looked at him. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “Ever since Sunday you act like I gave you a wormy apple.”
Tom couldn’t help smiling; it was, after all, one of his funny lines. “Weirdo,” he said. Then he put his mean face back on. “Why’d you weasel out of skipping church?”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t feel good about it.”
“Nobody has a right to plan something then weasel out,” Tom said.
“Yeah, I guess I did do that. I should’ve told you before that I didn’t want to skip church.”
Tom nodded. “I don’t know. I guess I understand. I mean, I sort of missed it. Priesthood and even Sunday School. I probably shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for going.”
Leonard started barking in the driveway and I looked out. “The bull wants to play,” I said.
“The Bull Rider and the Barrel Man,” Tom said. “That’s what church is like.”
“Huh?”
“Going to church. It’s like when I play Barrel Man. I have the barrel to jump into if the bull is gonna get me. I know it’s dumb, but going to church is kind of like that. Every week you go to church, you get protection. You do something you know is right, and then you feel good. If you don’t do it, you feel bad and take it out on everyone else. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think so. If you don’t jump into the barrel you get mad at your brother.”
Tom laughed. “Right.” He got up and started to pace back and forth in front of me. “Sorry I’ve been a jerk to you,” he said.
“Forget it. You getting happier yet?”
He grinned. “Yeah. I’m feeling better now.”
He made a few more turns up and down the den floor, pacing faster and faster each time. Finally he said, “You look like you could use a bull ride, Shorty.” And then he grabbed me in a head lock and we spun around. The old Tom was back. He pushed me aside and bounded down the steps three at a time. I could hear his “Ha, ha, ha” from the yard, and I ran to the window. He was in the driveway, flipping Leonard’s ears. Then they took off, chasing in a complete circle around the barn.
They made a pass below me, still running hard. Leonard was barking, and Tom was laughing his usual, annoying laugh. “Ha, ha, ha, let’s go, bull rider!”
Beyond the noise and excitement below, beyond the driveway and the fence line, I looked to the wheat fields that seemed to stretch forever. I thought about the prairie, and how it could be a lonely place if I didn’t have a brother like Tom.

It was like a big fair day in the town of Preston, England, that warm day of July 22, 1837. People everywhere were rejoicing as they looked forward to the rule of Queen Victoria. She had finally been crowned and, to the joy of all her people, had ordered new elections for Parliament. Everyone hoped for honesty in their new government.
The celebration was in full force. Signs reading “Truth Will Prevail!” decorated the roads. Everywhere people lined the streets, listening to bands and waving flags.
To Jed it was a time of excitement. Never in his fourteen years had he seen people look to the future with so much hope. It truly was a time of rejoicing.
In the midst of the turmoil, three modestly dressed men stood and stared at the commotion around them. Jed could tell that they were strangers, because they didn’t seem to know what the celebration was about. Then to Jed’s amazement, the men read the banners and shouted, “Amen! Thanks to God, truth will prevail!”
Jed watched them thread their way through the crowd and disappear in the jubilant throng. As the fun of the festivities continued, he forgot the men and enjoyed the rare day of vacation.
When Sunday rolled around, the excitement was still high. In Jed’s family everyone was up early, as usual, preparing for their day. Mother had a fire going in the fireplace and was cooking breakfast. Jed’s little brothers and sisters were sitting by the fire, rubbing their sleepy eyes and waiting to be fed. Jed had already been to the town pump for water. He set the buckets on the bench by the back door.
“Thank you, Jed,” Mother said. The soft Scottish lilt could still be heard in her voice, even though they’d lived in England for over ten years. “Now you can wash for breakfast.”
Jed took a basin of water up to his room. He was thankful that it was summer. Winters were so cold that he couldn’t wash fast enough! Carefully he washed, then rejoined his family.
His mother dished up a steaming bowl of porridge, which he eagerly ate, then asked for more. Mother laughed as she dished up another bowl for him. “Well, Jed, you surely have an appetite! I hope that you can last until dinnertime. Are you going to the meeting with me today?”
Before he could answer, his father came in with the milk pails. “I’m sorry, Molly,” he said. “I need the boy today. Da’s (Father’s) cow is sick, and I’ll need Jed to hold her whilst I give her the draught (medicine).”
“But, Tom,” Mother protested. “Can’t Da help you? I would really like one of you to come with me.”
“Da’s arm hasn’t healed properly,” Father answered. “He doesn’t have the strength for the job. I’m truly sorry. We’ll both try to go with you the next time.” He put his arm around her and gave her a hug. He knew that religion was important to her. She had been looking for the true church for years. He and Jed had gone with her from church to church, looking for the truth. She was convinced that she’d soon find it.
She smiled at her men. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Tom. And I’ll expect Jed to come too.”
She took the younger children with her. After leaving them in their Sunday School classes, she slipped into the Vauxhall Chapel to listen to Reverend James Fielding. A member of his church ever since he had started preaching there, she had been drawn to him because of his belief that the true church of Christ was not on the earth at this time but would come before the Savior returned.
Mother had listened to Reverend Fielding tell of a church in America that his brother and sisters had joined. It was reported to be like the one Christ established long ago. The minister was expecting to hear more about this church, and he had asked his congregation to pray for the truth to be brought to them.
That morning as Mother sat in the front of the chapel and listened carefully to Reverend Fielding’s sermon, he spoke forcefully about a need for prophets and a latter-day church. Then he told of three preachers here from America who were personal friends of his family in America. He invited everyone to return at three o’clock and listen to them preach.
Mother sat up even straighter in her seat. This was it! She just knew that what she’d been waiting for was about to happen. As soon as the meeting was over, she slipped out of the chapel and almost ran for home, pulling the little ones behind her.
“Tom! Jed!” she called. They still weren’t home from Da’s. Leaving ten-year-old Ann in charge, Mother ran from house to house, leaving a message with her neighbors: “Preachers from a new religion in America are going to speak at the Vauxhall Chapel. Everyone come!”
Never had she been so excited! Jed could feel the excitement when he walked through the door. Mother twirled Father around, and then Jed. “My prayers have been answered!” she exclaimed joyfully. “They’re here! The men from America. You must come with me!” After she calmed down enough to explain, they quickly agreed to go with her.
Knowing that there would be a crowd, they left early for the chapel. They found seats toward the front and squeezed in next to neighbors and friends who were already waiting eagerly for the meeting to begin.
When the hour for the meeting arrived, the door near the pulpit opened, and Reverend Fielding stepped through, followed by three men. Jed immediately recognized them as the three men he’d seen in the streets during the queen’s celebration. The sounds of “Truth will prevail!” echoed in his ears as he remembered. Now he knew what truth they had been shouting about.
He heard his mother gasp as she squeezed her husband’s arm. “Those are the men!” she whispered urgently. “The ones that I told you about—the ones in my dream!”
All around them whispers and murmurs were heard. Behind them to the left, Jed heard a man say reverently, “I saw those faces as I slept. These are the men sent to teach us the truth!”
One of the men stood up and introduced himself as Elder Heber C. Kimball. Jed didn’t know that this man was called the “Herald of Grace” by the Prophet Joseph Smith, but Jed did know that he bore a powerful testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Kimball told of John the Revelator’s prophecy that the Lord’s Church would again be restored to the earth. He explained that it was the complete church as Jesus had organized it, with apostles and prophets and so forth. He told them of the need for all people to repent, to believe in Jesus Christ, and to be baptized by someone with the divine authority to do so.
The second man, Elder Orson Hyde, bore testimony that the true Church had been restored. The third man also preached. Jed sat very still. He didn’t want to miss a single word.
It was announced that the elders would be preaching again that night. Jed and his family went to that meeting, too, and to the one held Wednesday evening.
Jed was surprised when his mother angrily announced the next day, “Reverend Fielding has refused to let the elders preach anymore in his chapel! He’s been preaching for years that the true church had to be restored. Then when it happens, he’s afraid that he’ll lose his job! Well, we who believe know what to do!”
From that night on, the American elders preached at Jed’s home and in the homes of their friends. More and more people came to listen. They were like thirsty plants drinking in pure rainwater.
The time came when Jed, Mother, and Father were to be baptized. Jed grinned later as he thought back on the first baptism in England. He and his family had attended, and two of their neighbors had a footrace to see who would be first to reach the river and have the great honor of being the first person baptized in Christ’s Church in England.
When Jed himself was baptized, he felt a glowing sensation that what he was doing was right. He remembered again the day when he saw the three elders shouting for joy in the streets that truth would prevail. He felt great joy, himself, at being there when the truth had come to England.

While serving as young missionaries in Chile, my companion and I were walking down a street in the city of Los Andes. Across the way, a lady leaned out of her window to shake a blanket and said, “Good morning, elders.” She then disappeared into her house. I was surprised by her greeting. I walked up to the door, knocked, and when the woman answered, I asked, “How did you know us?”

She invited us in and explained that she and her husband had been two of the first people baptized in that community many years earlier. They had loved the Church until they had been offended. They now attended another church. “Now we know the Mormon Church is not true,” she said, retrieving a book titled something like Everything You Want to Know about the Mormons and written, of course, by a non-LDS author.

I glanced at the first few pages. I wasn’t an expert in Church history, but I knew Joseph Smith did not claim to see two angels named Urim and Thummim! “Not all this is true,” I said to the woman. “Look, if you want to know about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, talk to us. We’ll help you.”

That was the beginning. In the weeks that followed, my companion and I watched the members of this family add to their testimony tanks through study. They became active in the Church, but relying only on experiences in the Church was not enough to see this sister and her family through when the going got rough. Now, because they had also studied hard and found answers on their own, they each could say, “I know.”

During a leadership meeting on Saturday, after providing some training, we opened the meeting up for questions and answers. A sister on a pew towards the back raised her hand, identified herself as the district Relief Society president, and asked the following question; “Can we have a second or third or even fourth calling in the Church?” My immediate assumption was that she was concerned about sisters becoming overburdened by the demands of Church service, especially in a district where the total membership is not large. So, I proceeded to explain that in the Church we try to follow a policy of no more than one calling per member. To my surprise, she looked somewhat crestfallen and disappointed by this response. In the tender discussion that followed, I came to understand the purity and honest intent of her question. Although she is serving as a Relief Society president, she yearns to do more, and far from complaining, was actually hoping she could have more callings and assignments. I was profoundly humbled by her righteous desires to serve and was taught a beautiful lesson by her remarkable example of deep conversion. With renewed spiritual understanding, we then talked about how even with one calling we can find great joy in ministering and seeking opportunities to serve as the Saviour would, well beyond our prescribed meetings and specific assignments. In recalling this humbling experience, I am reminded of the Saviour’s statement as he visited with the Nephites that “so great faith have I never seen”2.

One of the experiences that Brother Ottley still laughs about occurred several years ago when the Tabernacle Choir was performing with the Utah Symphony Orchestra at the University of Utah commencement exercises. As he was conducting the two groups, he recalls, “Somehow my baton got away from me and flew clear over the orchestra and dropped down in front of the choir. We just continued with the performance, and I noticed my baton coming along the floor as orchestra members kicked it forward toward me. The principal violist picked it up to hand it to me but realized that at that moment he had to play so he dropped it. Then the concert master picked it up and handed it to me just at the time I was to cue the choir for a big entrance. It got us giggling to the point where we almost didn’t make the entrance.
“But that wasn’t the end of the story; that was only the beginning. The next day my brother, who had been at the commencement exercises, gave me a tube of glue and instructions on how to stick the baton to my fingers. Then a day or two later a choir member presented me with a glove with the index finger cut out of it so that I could slip the baton in through the hole. Several weeks later a lady member of the choir stopped us in the middle of a rehearsal (and you have to remember that our rehearsals generally have a lot of observers), walked down to me and said, ‘Brother Ottley, something must be done before we can proceed.’ On behalf of the choir, she presented me a package which I was forced to unwrap in front of everybody. In it was an archer’s quiver containing a whole bunch of batons so that if I lost one I could grab another one quickly.”

Last year, I decided to make a goal of saying my prayers every night. For a couple of nights, it was hard to remember to do it. Then I decided that I needed help to remember to say my prayers. So I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him about my goal. I asked if He would help me remember to do it each night. And it worked! If I forgot and got into bed without praying, I felt like something was wrong or something was missing. The Holy Ghost helped me every night to reach my goal. My mom and dad were surprised and happy to find out about what I had accomplished. We had a family home evening about goals, and now everyone in my family is working on something!Jackson Barney, age 9Orem, Utah

They have this mountain in Norway, right by the town of Drammen, called the Spiralen. From the outside it looks like a normal mountain, nothing special, but inside it is hollow. The mountain hides an old quarry where rock was dug from the mountain forming a spiral tunnel. Now the tunnel has been converted to a roadway which takes cars to the top for a panoramic view of the town and the ocean.
On this day, 43 priests and Laurels from the Norway Oslo Stake were climbing the Spiralen as part of their annual priests and Laurel conference. This is not a normal youth conference. The stake also sponsors one of those each year. But the stake has a long tradition of holding a special conference where they gather all the priests and Laurels in the stake together for two days of fun and serious discussions.
At this conference they’ve had panel discussions where their Church leaders agreed to answer gospel questions. They gathered together for dinner and a dance. And then they were climbing the Spiralen. But soon it was clear that this hike was something more than just a fun activity. They should have known. The hike was going to be symbolic.
First they divided into family groups using last names from Church history. The family groups were sent on their way in intervals following the path. The first rest stop was for water. Everything seemed normal. Then the second stop was for juice. What the hike meant was starting to become clear—traveling in family groups, the rewards becoming better and better.
John Gundersen of the Fredrickstad Branch said he caught on to the symbolism of the hike at the first stop. “I started to understand when they told us to hold to the iron rod.” The first stop could be telestial glory. The second stop could be the terrestrial. So when the families emerged from the woods at the parking lot near the top, they were expecting the end of the journey and their celestial reward. But it was not over yet.
Each family was given a wheelbarrow loaded with five large stones. They were told to continue up the path. Everyone was laughing and joking, and no one thought this last stretch was hard at all. One strong boy could easily handle the loaded wheelbarrow—that is until they saw the last pull to the summit. It was so steep and slick that they would have a hard time just getting themselves up the hill. But their wheelbarrows and those loads of rocks would make it really hard work.
Each family figured out their own method for getting up the hill. ElRay Gene Hendricksen from the Hokksund Branch said, “We decided to share the burdens. Everyone took a stone out of the wheelbarrow. Two other guys took the empty wheelbarrow. We made it. We were the only family group who did it that way.”
No one complained. They all just pitched in and figured out how to get their rocks to the top. Then came their reward. Hot and tired, they could rest and look out at the beautiful country below them. They were pleased that everyone made it to the top, where they were able to drop their burdens, represented by the stones. They piled the rocks together into an impromptu memorial. Then they were served lunch, food to feed the body, and listened to a speaker who talked of heavenly things, to feed the soul.
Bishop Aabo of the Drammen Ward explained that at times the climb was more challenging for some than for others. For a while a few carried the burdens while the others just walked along and didn’t need to help. But even though the challenges were uneven, at times they all had to work together to make sure everyone made it to the top. Bishop Aabo pointed out that Christ promised he would help make our burdens light. Gaining their own testimony would give them strength to reach the pinnacle.
The hike was the perfect conclusion to the conference. On a social level, it was great fun. Cathrine Opdahl of the Oslo Second Ward said, “The most fun is meeting people of your same age from different parts of Norway, getting to know them in a new way.”
“Yes,” said Kathinka Svendsen, also of the Oslo Second Ward. “We have problems in common, especially at school where people are not accepting that you’re a Latter-day Saint with high morals.”
“Here,” said Kjetil Pedersen, Drammen Ward, “it’s people with your same attitude and outlook about religion. It’s good to do something together.”
The panel discussions had everyone’s interest. All the participants were given slips of paper. They could write any question they wanted discussed without a name attached. They put all the questions into a hat and then the stake president, several bishops, and Young Women leaders would attempt to answer the questions as they were drawn at random. The panel did reserve the right to refer the question to someone more knowledgeable or simply not answer.
“All the questions were interesting,” said Jaran Rosaker, Oslo Third Ward. His friend, Tarjei Gylseth agreed, “And they gave good answers as well.”
But the most important things these young people had to say were in the quiet moments when you asked them about answers to prayers or their testimonies. Then they spoke about the calm, quiet feeling of peace that could only come from the Lord. Jaran said, “I read Moroni 10:3. That says if you ask God if what is written in the Book of Mormon is true, he will answer. I tried it out. I got the feeling that it was true. It is kind of a warm, good feeling inside.” [Moro. 10:3]
Hanne Akselsen of the Oslo Second Ward also felt something intense when she read the Book of Mormon. “I had taken the first discussion from the missionaries, but I hadn’t felt anything special when they told me I had to study and pray. I tried. I prayed and studied. What happened was amazing. It felt like the Book of Mormon was written to me. I just recognized it. It was so familiar and right.”
Coming to the priests and Laurel conference “helps build Zion here in Norway,” said Ida Podhorny, Moss Ward. “We learn to be in the world, not of the world. I’m thankful for my good friends.”
Désirée Bjerkoe, the stake Young Women president, said, “Our purpose is to come together and strengthen the youth and get them to strengthen each other. Actually that’s what they do. They stay up late and talk. That time is golden. If they don’t have friendships in the Church, then they turn to their friends outside the Church.”
Then it was time to leave the mountaintop and go back down to the real day-to-day world. But as these friends make their way back down, they know that in that high place they have built a monument more significant than of simple stones. ElRay Hendricksen explained, “It is a monument that symbolized that we have all done the same things and made it to the top by helping each other. But we are not finished yet. We will have to develop ourselves and stay together and stay true.”
On a mountaintop in Norway, one group of teens has found some answers.

Some time ago, I was assigned to preside over a regional conference in La Paz, Bolivia. La Paz is high in the Andes mountains, at an elevation of approximately 12,000 feet. Members came to the conference from small towns and villages scattered throughout the area of La Paz and the Altiplano.

Great sacrifice and commitment were required for some of these members to attend the meetings. Prior to the leadership training session, I stood in front of the stake center and greeted the brethren as they gathered. I greeted one older brother who told me through an interpreter that he lived a long way from La Paz. I noticed that his shirt was a different color from about the middle of his chest down. The upper portion of his shirt was white, while the lower portion was a brownish-red color.

I learned that he and three of his companions, all Melchizedek Priesthood holders, had taken more than eight hours to travel to these meetings. They had walked most of the way and had to ford two rivers where the brownish-red water came up to their chests. When they came to the main road to La Paz, they flagged down a truck and stood in the back of it for the last two hours to the stake center.

I could hardly believe that anyone would have such commitment, faith, and courage. When I expressed my deep concern for this dear brother, he said, “Brother Ballard, you are an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ. I would walk as long as required, ford as many streams as required, to come and hear from you what the Lord wants me to do as a priesthood leader in the Church.”

This response brought tears to my eyes. We embraced one another in the special brotherhood of the priesthood of God. I also learned that they had not had anything to eat, nor did they have any place to stay that night. Through the goodness of the Saints of La Paz, they were taken care of during the conference weekend.

“Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. That’s how Peter could show Jesus he loved Him.”
“Mom, did Jesus have a herd of sheep?”
“No, sweetie. Jesus is sometimes called the Good Shepherd, and we are like His sheep. Jesus was teaching Peter that if we want to show Jesus we love Him, we should help others.”
“Is that why we are going to deliver the pie to Sister Jacobs after family home evening?”
“Yes, it is. But it would be nice for you to think of something you can do to show Sister Jacobs you love her.”
Olivia thought about what she could do. She remembered that Mom and Grandma really like the pictures she draws.
“I know! I can make a card for Sister Jacobs and draw a picture on it!”
Olivia drew a beautiful rainbow. On the inside of the card she wrote, “Get well soon! Love, Olivia.”
When Olivia and her family got to Sister Jacobs’s house, Mom asked Sister Jacobs how she was feeling. Sister Jacobs started to cry.
“I just found out I have to go to the hospital to have an operation tomorrow. I’m a little scared.”
Mom handed Sister Jacobs the pie. Then Olivia gave her the card she had made.
“Thank you, Olivia. This beautiful card and your sweet smile make me feel better.”
Olivia felt like somebody was hugging her heart. She was happy that she could help Jesus feed His sheep.

We had a lesson in Primary about studying the scriptures and being a good example to our friends. I learned one reason why this is so important. I live in a small town where thousands of Latter-day Saints come to visit each year—Nauvoo, Illinois. My sister and I are the only LDS students in our school, St. Peter and Paul School. It is just a few blocks from the original Nauvoo Temple site. Ever since the reconstruction of the temple was announced by President Hinckley in April 1999, people have talked a lot about it and about the Church. All the kids in school know I’m LDS, and sometimes it is uncomfortable when we talk about religion in class. But we all believe in Jesus, so when my teacher asked us, “What is a missionary?” I raised my hand. “A missionary is someone who spends all his time teaching about Jesus and serving people,” I said. My teacher was impressed with my answer.
Later that week, we were talking about Jesus and she asked, “Who baptized Jesus and where was He baptized?” I knew from my scripture study that John the Baptist had baptized the Savior and that it took place in the River Jordan. I was happy to be able to raise my hand again and answer her question. I felt like a good example, and I know that my scripture study paid off.
Bryce Capener, age 7Nauvoo, Illinois

Peter’s faith reminds me of an experience that I heard from Elder José L. Alonso. Shortly after Elder Alonso’s son passed away, leaving a family with young children, Elder Alonso overheard the children talking.
“What are we going to do?” they asked.
A nine-year-old daughter answered, “Daddy is OK. He is preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Like Peter, this little girl saw beyond her challenges and trusted in Jesus Christ and His Atonement. Faith in the Savior brings peace and the strength to move forward.

I saw the pageant in 2017, the evening before I sent my son on his mission. It was an amazing experience — all the struggles the early Saints from Britain must have endured, and hard decisions made in leaving to go to America, and for those who stayed behind. It was a wonderful spectacle. It brought me to tears. I loved it at the end when all the missionaries came out to join the cast on stage. It was a very powerful moment. In fact, it still sets me off crying just thinking about it! I had the opportunity to talk to one of the performers after, and she had experienced some of my own troubles. We had a lovely discussion that gave me hope to continue. That evening will always stay with me. Afterwards, we walked around the Preston Temple in the dark. Everything was illuminated and it was beautiful.

We were going to hand out pamphlets to find missionary referrals for our stake youth conference activity. I had been reading For the Strength of Youth. When the activity began, I tossed it back on the table where I had found it. But the thought occurred to me that I should take it with me. So I picked it up and put it in my scriptures.
We were all nervous about talking to strangers about the gospel, but when we stopped to talk to a woman hanging laundry in her yard, she was very friendly and took one of our pamphlets. During the conversation she told us about her concerns for her family. One son in particular was struggling with drugs and other problems. We did our best to console her, then moved on.
A few minutes later I opened my scriptures. When I saw my For the Strength of Youth pamphlet, I remembered what the woman had said about her son and felt like I should go back. I wasn’t nervous anymore.
We found the woman still outside. I told her I had something she might like. I explained about the standards our youth follow and gave her the pamphlet to read with her son. I could tell it made her happy. She called her son outside, and we were able to set up an appointment for both of them with the missionaries.
I felt like a missionary! It was great to have the opportunity to teach and maybe help this young man. I know it was the Holy Ghost who told me to take that pamphlet with me.

For example, some time ago a stake Relief Society president serving on a steering committee for a bishops’ storehouse reported to us that the welfare recipients were wasting food because the labels on the products did not have sufficient directions. She cited the pancake mix as a case in point. We, therefore, arranged to have the mix tested, and the pancakes were found to be hard and tasteless. On a second try, the tester followed the directions on the label of a similar commercial preparation calling for the addition of milk and eggs. This test resulted in fluffy, delicious pancakes.
We recommended that instructions and simple recipes be added to the labels of all storehouse products. We are informed that the new labeling will soon be completed. This action will benefit all welfare recipients.

Another incident—at the end of World War II, I was seated in my office in Salt Lake and received a telephone call from a man in New York, a multimillionaire who had made 30 million dollars by the time he was 30 years of age. He had a son in a military camp just outside Salt Lake City. This boy had expected to be shipped overseas, as many others had been. Then the war ended and so they were crowded into that camp, like sardines in a can. This boy was discouraged, and his father was worried about him. So he called and said, “Would you please call him on the telephone and see if you can cheer him up a bit?” I said, “Of course, I’d be happy to.” And I called him and said, “Would you like to come into the office for a little visit?” And he said, “I sure would.” He was a bit delayed in coming, and I was just ready to leave for home when he arrived.

I said, “Would you like to go out to the house with me and take potluck with the family? My wife doesn’t know you’re coming, but you’ll be welcome.” So he said, “I can’t imagine anything I’d rather do tonight than that.” So we went out, and we had our dinner, and we had our prayer. We gathered around the piano afterwards and enjoyed ourselves with some singing. Then after we visited for awhile, I drove him down to his bus. In a few days I got a letter from his father, and you know, you’d have thought I’d saved that boy’s life. The father quoted a letter from his son in which the son had said, “Father, I didn’t know there were any people in this world who lived like that.” Yes, we take it all for granted. Here was a man worth millions of dollars—could buy his son anything that dollars could buy and never miss the money—and yet this simple thing of prayer and devotion in the home had passed him by.

In March 1997, while living in the Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, my husband and I were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As I studied the doctrines of the Church, many of my questions were answered. It was interesting to learn about the plan of salvation, including the practice of baptism for the dead. I was surprised to learn that we could be baptized for our deceased ancestors.
A year after our baptism, the mission president invited us to prepare to go to the temple. As part of our preparation, we started doing family history research. One day as I was thinking about doing this work, the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law. I asked her if she would send me a list of the deceased ancestors on my husband’s side of the family. She was amazed and told me that baptism for the dead was not Christ’s doctrine but rather something the Mormons had made up. I wasn’t sure how to answer her because I wasn’t familiar with scriptural references that supported the doctrine.
As I was thinking about how to respond, the phone switched off. I was unsure for a minute what had happened, but I hung up the phone and went to my bedroom. I took the New Testament into my hands, knelt to pray, and asked Heavenly Father to show me where I could find the answer.
At the end of my prayer, I opened the Bible. I felt as if someone had told me to read the 29th verse on the very page I had opened. I was in the 15th chapter of 1 Corinthians, which talks about the doctrine of baptism for the dead.
I was touched and surprised that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer at that very moment. It was a wonderful feeling.
I was thinking deeply about this experience when suddenly the phone rang again. It was my mother-in-law, asking me why the phone had switched off. I told her I didn’t know but then asked her to open her Bible and read 1 Corinthians 15:29.
A few days later a list of deceased relatives was on my table. My mother-in-law had read the scripture and now believed that the Savior, through the Apostle Paul, had taught the doctrine of baptism for the dead.
God has promised great blessings to those who do this redemptive work. I know this to be true.

In Oslo, the morning sun is hazy. It’s peering over rock walls, creeping down the cobblestone streets. For most teenagers, it’s time to get up and get ready for school.

But at the Oslo First Ward building, a group of teenagers is already studying. In fact, they arrived long before the first light peeked through their seminary classroom windows.
“I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning to get ready,” says Øyvind Andersen, 17. “My father drives me over, and class starts at 6:30. Then at 7:15 I take the subway to my school, which starts at 8:20.”
“At school we already have classes on Christianity and World Religions,” says Liv Austenaa, 15. “So some of my friends think I’m crazy to come to another religion class early every day.”
“But early-morning seminary has given me a lot,” says Thor Andre Eråk, 16. “I believe I’ve learned much more than if I had studied by myself at home.”
Is it worth the effort? “I cannot possibly express my gratitude for what the Church has done to my life,” Øyvind says. “I know what I have—the gospel—is extremely valuable. I’m convinced that programs like seminary and missionary work give you a solid platform for later life. They strengthen your testimony radically.”
His brother Geir, 16, agrees. “Seminary helps me to find out what the gospel is all about,” he says. “I think Christ is the best of all examples, and thinking about him makes me want to get up and go to seminary. When I come here, I always get more out of my day.”

When I was a child, my family traveled to the Tokyo Japan Temple. The 12-hour car trip was long, but we were grateful for the time we got to spend together, and we spent the drive discussing our excitement about going to the temple.
At the time I wasn’t yet 12 years old, so I was only able to enter the temple lobby. But the sacred nature of that space filled my heart with the warmth of the Spirit.
I could have stayed in that lobby forever. So when it came time to return home, tears started streaming down my face. The temple quickly grew smaller and smaller in the distance as we drove away, and I already missed the strong Spirit I had felt inside.
I was determined to return one day. If the Spirit was that strong in the lobby, I couldn’t wait to experience what it felt like to actually go inside and perform ordinances. I wanted to do whatever I could to prepare to go inside someday.