Gospel Story Finder

“When Queen Victoria of England pinned one of England’s highest awards on Helen Keller, she asked [her], ‘How do you account for your remarkable accomplishment in life? How do you explain the fact that even though you were both blind and deaf, you were able to accomplish so much?’ Without a moment’s hesitation, Helen Keller said, ‘If it had not been for Anne Sullivan, the name of Helen Keller would have remained unknown.’
“While we know Helen Keller’s story (and that Anne Sullivan was the teacher who helped her along), most of us do not know who saw the potential in Anne Sullivan. As a young girl, Anne Sullivan was known as ‘Little Annie.’ She was diagnosed as being hopelessly insane and was locked in the basement of a mental institution outside of Boston. Little Annie would on occasion violently attack anyone who came near her. At other times she would completely ignore them.
“An elderly nurse believed there was hope for the child and felt she could communicate love and hope to her. The nurse daily visited Little Annie, but for a long time Little Annie gave no indication she was aware of her presence. The elderly nurse persisted and repeatedly brought some cookies and left them in [the] room. Soon the doctors in the institution noticed a change. After a period of time, they moved Little Annie upstairs. Finally the day came when this seemingly ‘hopeless case’ was released. Filled with compassion for others because of her institution experience, Little Annie, Anne Sullivan, wanted to help others.
“Therefore, it was Anne Sullivan who saw the great potential in Helen Keller. She loved her, disciplined her, played, prayed, pushed, and worked with her until the flickering candle that was her life became a beacon that helped light the pathway and lighten the burdens of people all over the world. But first there was the elderly nurse, then Anne Sullivan, then Helen Keller, and finally each one of us, and additional millions, who have been influenced by the people of Helen Keller” (Vital Speeches of the Day, p. 42).
An unknown elderly nurse has made a monumental contribution to our society. Anne Sullivan honored that nurse and Helen Keller honored Anne Sullivan. In the same way, as we honor God by going the second mile, he will honor us.

We won the game, four to three, and I kicked in one of the goals myself! After the game Gracie walked over to me. “Tell me some more about your church, Ryan,” she said.

I told her about the Articles of Faith, which is what Sister Adams says that we should do if someone wants to know what the Church teaches. But Gracie didn’t seem to understand them at all, so I started telling her about Primary.

“Can any kid go to Primary, or just kids in your church?” she asked.

“Anybody who wants to,” I answered. She just stood there, waiting, so I took a deep breath and asked, “Would you like to go to Primary with me tomorrow?”

She smiled a big smile. “I’ll ask my dad.”

Oh, brother! Another girl! I thought. I was glad that Gracie wanted to go to church, but why hadn’t Kevin reacted like this? Gracie’s father said that it was OK for her to go with me, so I told him what time Primary started and when I’d pick her up. She drove off, waving at me from the window of her dad’s van.

That night Mom and Dad came into my room for my prayers. When I was done, Mom kissed my cheek and said, “We’re really proud of our missionary.”

“Don’t be,” I said.

“Why?” Dad asked.

“Because I wasn’t really a missionary to Gracie. She practically had to beg me to invite her to Primary. I didn’t want another girl in my class—I wanted Kevin to come. Why didn’t he want to go to Primary and learn more about the gospel?”

“Even Last-days Kids have their free agency,” Mom said. “Don’t give up on Kevin yet. And don’t stop being his friend just because he isn’t interested in going to church with you.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.

“Good.” Dad smiled. “I’m proud of you.” And he kissed me good night.

Our lesson in Primary the next day was about the Word of Wisdom. Gracie sat and listened hard to everything Sister Adams said. Lisa and Tina-Marie were quiet too. It was a good lesson. After Primary Mom asked Gracie if she wanted to go home.

“Are you going home?” she asked.

“No. We’re going to stay for sacrament meeting,” Mom answered. “But if you’d like to go home now, I’ll take you.”

“Am I allowed to go to sacrament meeting?” Gracie asked.

“Of course,” Mom answered.

“Then I’d like to stay, please,” Gracie said.

Dad squeezed my arm, his smile almost too big for his face.

After church we dropped Gracie off at her house. “See you at soccer practice,” she said as she hopped out of the car.

“Will you need a ride to church next Sunday?” Dad asked.

“No. I don’t think so.” The whole mood in the car went down like a flat tire on a bicycle. Then Gracie leaned in through my open window. “Last night Mom and Dad and I had a big talk. Mom’s been wanting to find a church to go to ever since we moved here. And Dad said that he’s always been impressed with Ryan. So they said that if I liked your church, next Sunday they’d go with me.”

As the winter afternoon sun slid behind the expansive snow-covered ski hill, the freezing mountain air sharply bit our cheeks and noses, acting almost like a stern usher instructing us to find our cars and trucks in the ski resort parking lot. There in our comfortable cars, heaters would soon warm cold fingers and toes. The sound of the frozen snow crunching with each step we took confirmed that this was extreme cold.
Our family had enjoyed a fun-filled day on the ski slopes, which was now coming to a frosty close. Arriving at the car, I reached in my coat pocket for the keys and then another pocket and another. “Where are the keys?” Everyone was anxiously waiting on the keys! The car battery was charged, and all the systems—including the heater—were ready to go, but without the keys, locked doors would deny entrance; without the keys, the engine would not provide power to the vehicle.
At the time, our primary focus was on how we were going to get into the car and get warm, but I couldn’t help but think—even then—there just might be a lesson here. Without keys, this wonderful miracle of engineering was little more than plastic and metal. Even though the car had great potential, without keys, it could not perform its intended function.
Let’s now end where we began, stranded in the frigid parking lot asking, “Where are the keys?” By the way, later that evening I did miraculously find the keys that had fallen out of my pocket on the mountain. The Lord has shown us that He will not leave us standing in the bitter cold without keys or authority to lead us safely home to Him.

Had the time come for baptism?
“Brother Palmer asked me if I would be baptized,” Brandon recalls. “I had already told him yes. Then the missionaries asked, too. I remember that was on August 4. They said, ‘How about September 4?’ I said, ‘That’s the day after the big game. I don’t know if that will work,’” and he called for time out to think it over. It didn’t take long. He thought about what he had learned and the answers he had already received.
“I knew I had to decide,” Brandon said, “And once I made the decision, I knew it was right. I knew I would fulfill my promises to the Lord with all my heart.”

“I’ve wanted to fly airplanes for as long as I can remember,” 17-year-old Lamar F. says. When a friend from his wheelchair racing days told him about a British charity that helps people with disabilities learn to fly, Lamar was eager to try.
He signed up for two of the charity’s programs. One of them, the Junior Aspiring Pilots Program (JAPP), was created especially for youth between the ages of 12 and 18. These programs and other solo lessons are all propelling him one step closer to his big goal—getting his Private Pilot License.
Part of his inspiration comes from his family. Lamar’s foster dad was the first person to get him hooked on flight, taking him to airshows every year. Later, after he was adopted by another family at age four, Lamar’s interest in aviation continued to thrive as he watched his adoptive father pursue a pilot’s license. “He’s my inspiration for wanting to be a pilot,” Lamar says. Now Lamar’s dad can ride with him in the single-propeller, five-seater airplanes Lamar is learning to fly.
Lamar’s parents (pictured here on either side of him) are some of his biggest supports.

“Tillman dribbles downcourt. He’s double-teamed by O’Neal and Hardaway. Wow! Somehow he got free. Slam dunk! The crowd is going wild. Tillman comes up with a steal. He stops behind the three-point line. It’s good! Robert Tillman has single-handedly brought his team …”
“What do you think, Robert?”
“Uh, obey the commandments.”
“Good. That is one thing you can do. Now, Sylvia, what else can you … ”
Hah. Sunday School is the same every week. Every answer is “obey the commandments,” or “read the scriptures,” or “pray.” All I have to do is use one of those answers. No listening required. I’d rather be watching basketball anyway. Someday I’ll be playing professional basketball. Boy, I’ve got to practice more. But Mom wouldn’t let me play on Sunday anyway. I don’t know why she won’t let me. I go to church, so why can’t I have the rest of the day off …
“Robert, do you have any ideas?”
“Obey the commandments.”
“That’s what Jerry said.”
“Oh, I meant read the scriptures.”
“Very good.”
Man, this is so easy. The answers are so simple. I don’t need this. What I need is a math tutor so I don’t fail math. If I fail math, I won’t be eligible to play basketball. I have to play. If I don’t, it’ll rule out my chances of getting a scholarship. Without that, I can say good-bye to the pros. I thought the Holy Ghost was supposed to help me. And I need help with my homework. What have I done wrong? What am I supposed to do to get help from Heavenly Father? I don’t do anything wrong. I don’t drink or smoke. I don’t even have a girlfriend. I don’t swear. I wish someone would just tell me what I am supposed …
“Brother Tillman. Please wake up and tell us what we can do to stay close to our Heavenly Father.”
“Oh, sorry. How about pray?”
“Very good, Robert.”
Pray. That’s the answer to almost all the questions in this class. I wish math was as easy as this class. Sunday School is so easy, and I know all the answers. Pray. Obey the commandments. Read the scriptures. It’s easy. If I do all of those things, my problems will disappear. That means if I do all those things, I will get help with my math. Well, it hasn’t worked so far. I read the scriptures. Just today in priesthood, I read a scripture. President Hunter said to read the scriptures every day. Well, I don’t read every day, but … I guess I don’t read much at all. I have homework, basketball, my friends.
I do everything else. I pray. At least I used to say my prayers every night. Sometimes when I stay up doing homework, I’m too tired to kneel down. In the morning, I don’t have time. I’d be late for school if I took time to say my prayers all the time. I’m sure Heavenly Father wouldn’t want to hear prayers from me when I’m tired. Well, maybe he would.
I do keep all the commandments. I don’t kill, I don’t steal, and I don’t take the Lord’s name in vain. I keep the Sabbath day holy. Most of the time. Well, I suppose I do have some work to do there …
“What would you say, Sylvia?”
“Listen to the Holy Ghost.”
“That’s right.”
That makes sense. The answers to the questions are easy to say in class. They’re just words there. It’s life where it gets more difficult. There, you can’t just say the words. You have to put in the effort too. I guess I’ve never really thought about it that way before. I definitely need Heavenly Father’s help. I better get to work.

One morning when I was serving as a young missionary in Beaumont, Texas, my companion became ill and needed to rest. Following the counsel of our mission president for such situations, I pulled a chair up by the open window in our fourth-story apartment and began to read in the Book of Mormon.
Soon I became immersed in the scriptures, and after a time I came to Alma chapter 29, verses 1 and 2:
“O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak with the trump of God, with a voice to shake the earth, and cry repentance unto every people!
“Yea, I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption, that they should repent and come unto our God, that there might not be more sorrow upon all the face of the earth.”
As I pondered on Alma’s words, they became deeply personal. My companion and I had knocked on hundreds of doors in Beaumont, offering to share our message, but with limited success. In my mind’s eye, I began to imagine what it might be like if I were an angel and could cry repentance with a voice to shake the earth. I looked out the window at the people coming and going on the street below. I imagined what it would be like if I were standing there shining like an angel, with my hands raised, speaking with a voice of thunder. I envisioned the buildings shaking and people falling to the earth. Under the circumstances I imagined, they might have a sudden desire to listen to what I had to say!
But then I read the next verse: “But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me” (v. 3).
I was humbled to realize the Lord loves all His children and has a plan for His work. My job was to do my part.
I was also humbled to realize something else. In that moment, I knew that what I was reading was not fiction—it was real. Quietly and peacefully while I was reading, I had been filled with light and with the realization that this Alma was an actual person, that he had lived, and that he too had deeply desired to share the gospel message with others.
If you had asked me in that moment, “Do you know this is true?” I would have replied, “Absolutely!” At that point, it became clear to me that I was receiving a spiritual witness of the truth of the Book of Mormon.
As I have reflected on that experience—and many such witnesses since—I have come to better understand how vitally important it is to receive by the Spirit. We often focus, appropriately, on the importance of teaching by the Spirit. But we need to remember that the Lord has placed equal, if not greater, importance on receiving by the Spirit. (See D&C 50:17–22.)
As I have read back over my journal entry to understand and learn more from the experience I had as a missionary, I have realized that although I had read in the Book of Mormon before, what happened in Beaumont that morning was different because I was different. As inexperienced as I was, at least on that occasion I was sincerely trying to seek and to feel, and my intent was to act in faith on what I learned. I know now that such witnesses are available to each of us on a regular basis if we will receive them.

Before I left to run some errands one evening, I asked my children to do their homework and told them I would correct it when I returned home. Upon my return, I was surprised to find my seven-year-old son, Mayco, riding his bike with a friend. I asked him if he had done what he was supposed to do, and he answered with a resounding yes. I then asked if he was telling the truth, and he said, “Mama, I can’t lie to you.”
This caught his friend’s attention, and he asked Mayco why he could not lie. Mayco replied with total certainty, “How could I lie when I’m a Mormon?”
I went into the house to look over his homework, and not only was it done, but there were no mistakes.
I am grateful for the gospel principles that my son is learning and for his example of becoming more like Jesus.

Teachers Camron Stewart (right) and James Decker of the Sigonella Branch painted the bus stop at the Navy Air Station Sigonella in Sicily, Italy. With a little help from their youth leaders and a few of the boys’ friends who stopped by to help out, the bus stop looked great after the service project.
The young men had fun painting. Camron summed it up in these words: “It made me feel good, like I was making a difference in my community.”
Branch president Brian Stewart says this project, along with other activities the youth have recently participated in, has opened many doors for the young men to share their beliefs with friends and teachers at school.

One day my four-year-old brother, Benjamin, wished for an elf to come and rescue us. It all happened on a spring holiday from school when Mom came rushing back from her Relief Society presidency meeting and gasped, “Boys, this place looks terrible! What happened?”
Nothing had happened. We’d just been awake and playing for a couple of hours and hadn’t bothered to clean up after ourselves. When five boys live in a house for two hours, things get kind of messy. We weren’t always sloppy at home. Sometimes we’d clean things up if Mom or Dad asked us to. And we usually grumbled and groaned a bit because keeping things tidy and clean wasn’t our favorite thing to do.
“I didn’t think you were supposed to be back for a long time,” Aaron said.
“I forgot some things,” Mom answered. “I have to go right back. Can’t you boys do something about this house? It looks like a tornado blew through it.”
“But, Mom,” Jared groaned, “it’s a holiday. Nobody wants to work on a holiday.”
She didn’t say anything more. She just found what she was looking for and rushed out the door again.
I looked around. Things did look pretty messy: There were clothes and toys scattered about. Ammaron had emptied all the books from the two bottom shelves, and no one had cleared the breakfast dishes from the table or swept the kitchen floor. Our bedrooms were even worse—clothes everywhere, beds unmade, toys piled on the dressers.
“Do you know what I wish?” Benjamin asked. “I wish we owned an elf.”
“An elf? What would we do with an elf?” I asked.
Benjamin’s grin grew wider, and his dark brown eyes sparkled. “I’d make him work. Then Mom wouldn’t have to.”
“If you find one, Benjy,” Aaron said with a grin, “Alma and I could sure use him in our room. Maybe we could even get him to rake the lawn and plant the garden.”
Benjamin frowned at Aaron’s teasing and stamped his foot. “I am going to find an elf. I don’t want Mom to be sad any more.” He stood up and left the room.
I forgot about the messy house and Benjamin’s elf until he bounced back into the family room a while later and announced loudly, “An elf came!”
The rest of us turned away from the TV and stared at Benjamin, who stood grinning and beaming.
“What are you talking about?” Aaron asked.
Benjamin stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth. “A secret elf came to Jared and my room. It’s clean. Mom will sure be happy when she sees what my elf did.”
Well, we’d never had an elf at our house. We didn’t really believe that Benjamin had found one now, but he had raised our curiosity enough that we left the TV and followed him down the hall.
The place was clean. At least there were no toys, blankets, or clothes scattered about. The bedspreads were a little lumpy, but the beds were made. The room looked a lot better than I had remembered it looking that morning.
“How do you know an elf did it?” Jared questioned Benjamin.
Benjamin shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “I just know. Don’t you wish an elf had visited your room, Alma?”
I stepped to the closet and pulled open the door. Three stuffed animals and a bundle of wadded-up clothes tumbled out.
Aaron snickered, bent over, and threw back the bedspread to look under the bed. More toys, shoes, and clothes had been stuffed out of sight. “Some elf,” he laughed. “Your lazy elf stuffs things away as well as you do, Benjy.”
Benjamin’s smiled drooped into a sad frown as everyone turned and left the room, laughing and joking about his lazy elf. I stayed behind.
“It really was an elf, Alma,” he said with teary eyes. “The room was clean until you opened the closet.”
I put my arm around his shoulders. “Do you know what I think, Benjamin?” He looked up at me. “I think your elf needs a little help.”
“I don’t think there’s another elf who can help him,” Benjamin said sadly, ducking his head.
I stepped over to the closet and dropped to my knees. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Sometimes I’m an elf in my spare time.”
“You?” he gasped.
I grinned, nodding.
“Will you help me, Alma? I don’t want Mom to be sad when she sees my room.”
It didn’t take us long to whip that room into shape. And it was funny how good it made me feel to be doing something good in secret.
We were just straightening the sheets on the top bunk when Jared pushed open the door and stepped in. “Hey, what are you guys doing?”
Benjamin and I looked at each other. “It’s a secret,” I said.
Jared opened the closet door. Everything was in order. He peeked under the bunk bed. Nothing was stuffed there. He pulled out the drawers. All the clothes were folded and straight. “What happened?” he asked.
“It’s a secret,” Benjamin said. “There really is an elf.”
“It’s just you two,” he said, shaking his head.
“If you don’t tell, you can join us.”
“Why would I want to join you? I hate cleaning up.”
“But if you’re an elf, it’s fun!” Benjamin burst out.
Jared looked at me. I grinned and nodded my head. He thought a moment, then said, “All right, I’ll try it.”
“Aaron and my room’s next,” I whispered.
With three elves working full speed, we had the room finished in no time.
“What are you guys up to?” Aaron demanded, walking into our room. “Are you cleaning?” He peered about. Nothing was out of place. He checked under the bed, in the closet, and through the drawers. “Did you guys really do all this?” he demanded.
“Benjy’s elf came back,” Jared said.
“And he brought two buddies,” Benjamin added.
“This place is crawling with elves,” I told him. “There’s a regular elf patrol running around.”
“Mom won’t believe it!” Benjamin crowed. “She’ll think she’s in a different house. And she won’t be sad any more.”
“Join us,” Benjamin invited.
Aaron stepped into Benjamin and Jared’s room and looked around. Then he came back to our room. “Mom won’t know what to think,” he said smiling. Suddenly he frowned. “What about the kitchen? Ammaron just poured a box of cereal all over the floor.”
“It’ll take a whole bunch of elves for that,” Benjamin said.
I turned to Aaron. “Are you in the mood to be an elf?”
“It’s fun,” Benjamin chimed in.
Aaron shrugged. “I’ve been a lot of things but never an elf. Let’s do it!”
I don’t ever remember a time when all five of us worked so hard and so fast. And it took all of us to clean up the kitchen. Jared cleared and cleaned the table, Aaron dried the dishes, helping Ammaron wash them along the way, I grabbed a broom, and Benjamin got the mop.
We were worn out when we heard the car pull into the driveway, but the place was clean.
“Quick,” Aaron ordered. “Everybody get into the family room. We’ll be watching TV, pretending we don’t know anything about the house.”
We pulled a few books from the shelf, scattered some magazines about the floor, and kicked our shoes around the room so that Mom would think we were still just lying in our old mess.
Mom trudged into the house with her arms full of Relief Society things. She staggered into the kitchen and set her things on the table.
“Goodness!” we heard her exclaim. “What happened in here?”
No one answered.
She wandered throughout the house, peering into each room. “What has happened to this house!”
I stretched and yawned. “Oh, don’t worry, Mom. This movie is about over. We’ll help you pick up the house in a few minutes.”
“Have you seen this house?” Mom asked, surprised as she walked into the family room.
“Yeah, it’s a little junky,” Aaron came back, “but we can take care of that after the movie.”
“I don’t believe this is the same house!” Mom exclaimed again. Benjamin covered his face with one of the couch cushions so that Mom wouldn’t see him laughing. Jared and I were trying to hide our giggles too.
When she actually sputtered, “This place is spotless!” we all jumped up and rushed about the house, acting surprised.
“What happened?” we called out. “This place was such a dump!”
Then Mom spotted a note that Aaron had taped to the hall wall. She opened the note and read, “A special surprise from the elf patrol.” Mom looked up. “So we’ve had an elf invasion,” she said happily.
“They must have come in while we were watching TV,” Jared cried. “Imagine that—being invaded by elves!”
Now if the house ever gets really messy or if there is a stack of dirty dishes in the sink, Mom drops down in a chair and sighs, “Oh, I wonder where the elf patrol is today.”
And before too long, without Mom ever knowing, the house gets cleaned. We still haven’t told her who belongs to the elf patrol. That would spoil the magic. And when you are working as a secret elf, all the work you do is just plain fun.

A story is told of an English farmer at work one day in his fields when he saw a party of huntsmen riding about his farm. Concerned that they might ride into a field where the crop could be damaged by the tramp of horses, he sent one of his workmen to shut the gate and then keep watch over it and on no account to open it. He had scarcely arrived at his post when the hunters came up and ordered that the gate be opened. He declined to do so, stating the orders he had received, and steadfastly refused to open the gate in spite of the threats and bribes as one after another of the hunters came forward.
Then one of the riders came up and said in commanding tones, “My boy, do you know me? I am the Duke of Wellington, one not accustomed to being disobeyed, and I command you to open that gate, that I and my friends may pass through.”
The boy lifted his hat, and before the man whom all England delighted to honor, answered firmly, “I am sure the Duke of Wellington would not wish me to disobey orders. I must keep this gate shut, nor suffer anyone to pass but by my master’s express permission.”
Greatly pleased, the duke lifted his own hat and said, “I honor the man or boy who can be neither bribed or frightened into doing wrong. With an army of such soldiers, I could conquer not only the French, but the world.” (Adapted from “The Boy Who Kept Out Wellington,” in Moral Stories for Little Folks, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1891, pp. 112–13.)

Thirty years ago I had responsibility for much of the work in the South Pacific. A Brother J. Vernon Monson was called, together with his wife, to journey to faraway Rarotonga in the Cook Islands, there to serve as district president.
Later, in a letter to me, he reported: “We are most grateful for the progress being made, and I would especially like to mention the goodwill and wonderful relations that have developed with the representatives of government and the business community toward us and the Church.
“One thing climaxed the development of this public acceptance,” he wrote. “It was in having our nephew and niece, Dr. and Mrs. Odeen Manning, render an outstanding service here in the Cook Islands. Dr. Manning is an ophthalmologist, and I wrote to him outlining a proposal whereby he might render service to the people of Rarotonga. My proposal included the following: (1) no remuneration; (2) he must pay his own expenses; (3) that he turn his practice over to the other doctors to handle for the three months he would be away; (4) we would furnish them free board and room while in Rarotonga; and (5) that he bring his own surgical instruments, as none would be available in Rarotonga.”
Brother Vernon Monson’s letter to me continued: “The Mannings airmailed their reply in two words: ‘Offer accepted.’ As preparations began, the government of the Cook Islands assigned competent doctors to assist Dr. Manning and to learn from him. In all, 284 patients were examined, with most being fitted for glasses. Fifty-three patients had serious eye operations, such as cataract surgery.
“The entire three-month program was wonderful and most heartwarming. Truly we were blessed. It has buoyed up the Saints, who gained new pride in being members of a faith which would bring medical service to these islands.” The letter ended.
Years later, my wife and I were guests on a BYU-sponsored cruise to the Holy Land. One evening as we were seated on the ship’s deck, the man sitting next to us turned to me and said, “Elder Monson, my name is Odeen Manning from Woodland Hills, California. I am an ophthalmologist by profession and served a brief medical mission to Rarotonga when my uncle and aunt were serving there.”
I acknowledged that I was aware of his sacrifice and his service. I asked Dr. Manning, “As you reflect on this experience, would you wish to share with me your feelings concerning it?”
He responded with emotion, saying, “It was the most spiritually rewarding experience of my life.”
I believe it was more than coincidence that my wife and I would be on the cruise vessel at that particular time and in that particular area of the deck, sitting next to a man we never before had met. Heaven was close as Dr. Manning and I embraced, and thanks were expressed for his service—not only to those who were blind and now could see, but also to our Lord and Savior. As Jacob declared, “Great are the promises of the Lord unto them who are upon the isles of the sea.”

It was in a sacrament meeting that I came to better appreciate the power of a mother’s teaching. A young returned missionary, Clint Jordan, was telling us about his mission and of the variety of experiences he had had in sharing the gospel.
But then he said something that made me more than just a casual listener. “I really wouldn’t have had any of these experiences,” he said, “if my mother hadn’t taught me the real value of prayer.”
He continued, “I can still hear my mother’s voice telling me over and over again, ‘Clint, there’s no reason to be afraid. Whenever you are alone or you begin to feel afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.’”
Gathering my children together after the meeting, I could still feel the power of that testimony. A mother’s example, and the example of her son, gave me greater resolve to instill that same understanding of prayer in the hearts of my small children.

The prospect of two years without warm sand and blue-green waves ahead of me sent me surfing with my friend Gaven. At the end of the summer I’d be leaving for my mission in Iceland.
As Gaven and I carried our surfboards down a steep slope, we saw that an offshore wind was shaping six-foot waves into smooth, hollow barrels, beautiful to surfers’ eyes.
At the foot of the hills, cliffs dropped 50 feet down onto a narrow beach. We followed an eroded gully down the bluffs and easily climbed the last ten feet to the sand. Leashing our surfboards to our legs, we paddled out through kelp beds to the distant surf line.
I got in some of the best surfing of my life that day. The air and water sparkled clear and warm, and salt spray felt fresh on our faces. Seabirds wheeled and cried constantly, and the rides were long, fast, and perfect. Gaven and I stayed until after sunset.
As the twilight began to fade, my friend caught a last ride to shore. I looked at the horizon, which promised yet another set of extra-large waves, and waited for one more. I was rewarded by a last long, pounding ride.
I began the long paddle back, but a current pulled against me, and light faded to almost nothing. I finally reached the cliff’s base and discovered that the tide had risen much higher than I’d expected and now covered the beach. Waves rolled in and crashed directly against the cliff I had to climb. At first I shrank from the foaming water and tried in vain to discover an easier way; then I finally got up the courage to try.
The climb up was nothing like climbing down had been that afternoon. Then the cliff had been dry and high above the surf. Now it was slick as sushi, and white water roiled around me as I climbed.
Just short of the safety of the gully, I could go no farther. One last handhold lay just above my right hand, but I couldn’t reach it. That hand held my heavy surfboard, which a leash still attached to my leg. If I dropped it to the water, the waves would catch it and pull me off the rock. I needed my left hand to hold me in place. I was truly stuck.
Gaven, who had already reached the cliff top, suddenly appeared above me. For a moment, my foolish pride told me not to accept the hand he offered. “I’ve come so far on my own,” I thought. “I can make it myself.” But then I gratefully handed him the surfboard that burdened me, and with my right hand freed, I grasped the last handhold and reached the top.

A few years later, I learned how essential sacrifice is to living the gospel. If we want the Lord to give us purpose and direction, we have to be willing to take that direction.
After school, things didn’t go according to plan with the company I was working for, so my wife and I had two choices: stay in the United States or return to Chile. We both clearly felt that we needed to return to Chile. It might seem normal to want to return home, but this was at a very difficult time. There weren’t a lot of jobs in Chile. I was having trouble selling our home. Financially and logistically, it was not the most intuitive thing to do; even our families thought we were being unwise.
What do you do when revelation comes into conflict with common sense? Although it was hard, my wife and I knew what to do. We reminded ourselves that the gospel had gotten us this far. Without the Lord, I wouldn’t have had the inspiration that helped me serve a mission, receive my education, and meet my wife. We just had to trust that whatever the reasons were, we were needed in Chile.
We left our house to our bishop so it could be rented until he could sell it, and we moved away. It was difficult, but we experienced so many blessings and miracles when we heeded the Lord’s call. The Lord knows where we are needed and where we can best serve His purposes, and He blesses us for our obedience.

Until just recently I would have said one life preserver is as good as another. But not anymore! What changed my mind?

Recently I attended a safety exhibit that stressed accident prevention. The water safety display intrigued me most. It included a variety of familiar pieces of lifesaving equipment. On each piece of equipment was a simple card with just one word in bold, block letters. The card read YES on the pieces of equipment that were safety approved; NO on those that were not. I was amazed. I thought all the equipment was approved and would save one’s life in an emergency. The man in charge of the display said, “Most people think all equipment is perfectly safe, but they are just taking things for granted. That’s the tragedy of it. Instead of saving you, some of this equipment could get waterlogged, weigh you down and contribute to your drowning.”

He demonstrated several pieces of equipment with the YES label and then said, “If you want to be safe and sure, use only approved equipment.”

Rasha Stacey, a Laurel, sees how Personal Progress translates easily into opportunities to serve. She often helps other young women work on their Value Experiences. For example, another Laurel, Rachel Odom, set a goal of learning how to cut hair. “She cuts her own but had never done it on anyone else,” Rasha says. “So twice last year, my family invited her over. She cut all of the girls’ hair, including my mom’s. I really loved what she did, and we all had fun. It was a great learning experience—for me and for her.”

Sarah heard her mom call her. “Coming, Mom,” she called back. She set her doll on her bed and ran down the hall toward the kitchen. She took the shortest route through the family room—up onto the corner table, across the sofa, over the big stuffed chair, and around the breakfast bar. “Here I am,” she announced.
Mom smiled. “That was very fast,” she said, “but next time I would appreciate it if you walked around the furniture.”
Sarah giggled. “But then I wouldn’t be as fast.”
“That’s true, but now look who’s trying to do what you did.”
Sarah turned around and saw her little brother, Adam. He was standing on the corner table, ready to make the jump from the table to the sofa. Mom hurried over and lifted him off the table.
“Adam learns a lot from watching you,” said Mom. “You need to set a good example for him to follow.” She set Adam down on the floor. “The reason I called you was to tell you that I’m going to go outside to work in the garden,” Mom continued. “Do you want to come out with me?”
“Sure,” said Sarah. She looked down at her bare feet. “But I need to get my shoes on.” She turned to run back to her bedroom. Adam followed. This time she hurried around the furniture, and so did Adam.
“You’re right, Mom,” she said as she returned with her shoes in her hand, and Adam right behind her. “He does follow my example.”
Sarah sat down to put on her shoes.
“Sissy, outside,” said Adam, walking to the door.
“He knows you’re going outside because he sees you putting on your shoes,” Mom said. She followed Adam to the door. “We’re all going to go outside,” she told him with a smile.
Adam pulled on the doorknob but couldn’t turn it. He looked at Mom. “Open?”
Shoes on, Sarah ran to the door. “I’ll open it,” she said. She turned the doorknob and gave a mighty tug. Adam cheered when he saw the sunlight streaming in through the open door.
“Come on, Adam,” Sarah said, “let’s ride our trikes.”
Adam ran past Sarah to the swing set. “Swing, Mommy?” he said hopefully.
Sarah hopped onto her tricycle. “No, Adam, we’re going to ride our trikes,” she insisted.
“Swing, Mommy?” Adam repeated.
Mom lifted Adam into the swing. “I think Adam wants to swing right now,” she said to Sarah.
“He can’t,” Sarah said sadly. “He’s supposed to follow my example.”
Mom gave Adam a push. “Having him follow your example, and making him do what you tell him to do aren’t the same thing,” she said.
“They aren’t?” asked Sarah in a disappointed tone.
“No.” Mom explained, “Adam is just a little boy, but he is starting to make some of his own decisions. Sometimes he will do what you want him to do, and sometimes he won’t.”
“I wish he would always do what I want him to do,” said Sarah.
“But that’s not the way life works,” Mom pointed out. “We all have our agency, which means that we are free to make our own decisions. There are good examples that we can follow, and there are bad examples that we can follow.”
Sarah thought for a moment. “I know it’s all right for Adam to follow my example, but is it all right if I follow Adam’s example?”
Mom nodded. “It would be fine for you to follow Adam’s example as long as he’s not doing something wrong,” she said.
“I’m going to follow his example right now,” Sarah said, climbing off of her tricycle, “because I want to swing, too.”

It was a cool, overcast morning in 1919. Twelve-year-old Howard Hunter sat in the congregation in an aging frame chapel in Boise, Idaho. He had been a member of the Church only a short time, but he loved the gospel with all his heart.
Most of the members had mixed feelings that morning. There was excitement about the announcement of a plan for a new chapel. But there was concern about the cost. Ward members were asked to pledge what they could afford, but these were hard times and there was not a lot of money to spare.
The young boy rose to his feet. “I’m Howard Hunter, and I pledge $25,” he said in a loud voice. Howard had worked years to save that money, a large amount for anyone in 1919. But he knew the new chapel was worth the sacrifice. Others followed his example. The money was found. The chapel was built.

On October 25, 1995, Derrick Parke, of Carey, Idaho, died suddenly of a heart defect while playing racquetball with a friend. At the time of his death, he was attending his first semester at Ricks College and had just completed his mission papers. Derrick was known as an outstanding athlete in football, basketball, and track. He was an example to many for his sportsmanship, athletic ability, integrity, and kindness. The following is adapted from his father’s talk, given at his funeral.
As the bishop of the Carey First Ward, I was given the unique opportunity to interview my own son prior to filling out his mission papers. When the interview came to a close, and Derrick was about to sign his name on the line, I said, “Derrick, wait a minute. I want all the cards on top of the table. Are you worthy to go on this mission?”
He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Dad, I am.” And with that, he took the pen in hand and signed his mission papers.
Three days later he died.
But I don’t think that this was coincidental. Heavenly Father had a hand in this. I know that Derrick had a far greater mission to attend to, and that’s why he was taken. As I look back upon his life, there was never a better time for him to go. It was Derrick’s time to go home; he was ready. He lived his life in such a way that he was ready.
The walls of Derrick’s room are covered with laminated pictures of his success stories in sports; his trophies line the foot of his bed. But at the head of his bed is an 8-by-11-inch picture of the Savior. Derrick had his priorities in order. He knew what was first. He knew that the Lord was first, and that these other things were second.
I know that many young people would envy some of the successes that he’s had in sports. But the greatest success is to have the Savior by the head of your bed and to recognize that great blessing in your life. I know that we are an eternal family, and I know that Derrick knows that too. And Derrick knows that because he understood why he was on the earth.
It was this understanding that drove Derrick to do what is right. I know he had his personal prayers. He read the scriptures and attended seminary. The way Derrick lived his life showed that he loved the Savior.
President Boyd K. Packer once said that most people live and die, without knowing why they are here (see Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 16). But that was not the case with Derrick. He knew why he was here. He had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not only was he desirous to be a missionary, but he was willing to pay the price to be worthy to serve a mission. And like everything else he did, he paid the price.
And because of this, he was ready to serve wherever the Lord chose to call him. It just so happened that the Lord called him home.