Gospel Story Finder

The Beehive girls of the Provo East Stake have become better babysitters because of the workshops they attended on child care. Besides learning how to care for and entertain children, the Provo girls learned basic first aid and what to do in an emergency. Each girl made a babysitting kit that included simple games, portable party paraphernalia, puppets, and musical instruments made out of cans. The kit also included a plastic apron with pockets for bandages, towels for cleanup, scissors, paper, and crayons. Crystal Ashton enjoys using her Kiddy Kare Kit. “The children I tend like the parties and the puppets the best. They love everything we do with the kit.” The gift of caring was added to the basket.

Two of my good friends were my older brothers, Mike and Bill. They never minded having me tag along when they went to play basketball, baseball, or football, and if their friends didn’t want me to play, Mike and Bill wouldn’t play either. Playing sports with my brothers and their friends was hard because I was younger than they were, but it paid off in the long run. I always had to work harder to compete with them, but that extra effort made me a better athlete. By the time I was in high school, I was ahead of most guys my age, and that edge later helped me earn an athletic scholarship that paid my way through college.

Always live the standards in the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet, and avoid “unholy places.” To enter the temple, we must be worthy. It helps when we stand in holy places now. That means avoiding places and times when we would be tempted to make wrong choices. I recall a story by President J. Reuben Clark Jr. (1871–1961), a counselor in the First Presidency, about his teenage daughter. She was leaving for a dance, and he said, “Have fun, my dear. Be back by midnight.” She replied, “Daddy, this is the night of the prom. We go to the dance and are not back until early morning.” President Clark responded, “Yes, I know that is what many will be doing. But you must be back before midnight.” She, then, in desperation said, “Daddy, you just don’t trust me!” To which he replied, “My dear, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, I don’t even trust myself. Be back by midnight.”3

In the marvelous experience of Brigham Young in February of 1847, when the Prophet Joseph appeared to him in a dream or vision, Brigham pleaded to be reunited with the Prophet. Brigham Young asked the Prophet if he had a message for the Brethren. The Prophet said:
“Tell the people to be humble and faithful, and be sure to keep the spirit of the Lord and it will lead them right. Be careful and not turn away the small still voice; it will teach you what to do and where to go; it will yield the fruits of the kingdom. Tell the brethren to keep their hearts open to conviction, so that when the Holy Ghost comes to them, their hearts will be ready to receive it.”
The Prophet further directed Brigham Young as follows: “They can tell the Spirit of the Lord from all other spirits; it will whisper peace and joy to their souls; it will take malice, hatred, strife and all evil from their hearts; and their whole desire will be to do good, bring forth righteousness and build up the kingdom of God” (Manuscript History of Brigham Young, 1846–1847, compiled by Elden J. Watson, Salt Lake City, 1971, page 529).

It was my second day as a missionary in Denmark. My companion and I had planned exchanges in which we would do home teaching with some of the members in the ward. I went with two brothers; one was an elder, and the other a priest.
As we headed off, I asked, “Where are we going first?”
“We’re going to visit a sick member and give her a blessing,” one of them replied.
I didn’t think much about his answer until I realized that I would be part of the blessing. Fear immediately struck me. Although I had given blessings before, I was still struggling with the Danish language, and I knew I didn’t know the words needed to give an anointing or a blessing. I quickly scanned the missionary handbook, looking for the section on how to give a blessing in Danish, but with no luck.
Soon we were at the home of an older sister. I could tell she was sick by her constant coughing. I still didn’t know what to say, but this sweet sister, probably seeing how scared I was, said to me, “You can do it in English.”
I was very relieved, and the fear and panic inside of me left. I did the anointing in English, and the other brother did the sealing in Danish. The Spirit of the Lord was very strong, and we could all feel it.
The blessing had an immediate effect, and the sister we blessed was well enough to come to church that Sunday. During the course of my mission, I was able to give blessings to other people, but I will never forget that first blessing I was able to be a part of as a missionary. It gave me a strong testimony that no matter what language we speak, the power of the priesthood is the same.
[illustration] Illustration by Sam Lawlor

Brian felt very proud. He had built a birdhouse with a feeder tray that was just right for sparrows. Brian poured birdseed on the tray before he hung the birdhouse up in a tree where he could see it from the kitchen window. Then he waited.
About a week later a mother and father bird moved into the house. They carried small twigs and pieces of grass and string into the house to build a nest. Then the mother bird laid some eggs. Brian watched them every day. He always checked to make sure there was birdseed in the feeder.
One day Brian heard chirping. The baby birds had hatched! All day long the mother and father birds flew out of the house, then came back with a worm or a bug. They landed on the perch in front of the door and poked their heads in. When they pulled their heads out, their beaks were empty, and they flew away again.
A few days after the baby birds hatched, Brian saw some bees near the birdhouse. After the mother and father birds left to find food, the bees flew into the birdhouse. The bees buzzed and buzzed, and the baby birds chirped like they were scared. The mother and father birds came back, but they could only sit on a tree branch and watch.
Brian was scared. The bees buzzed like they were getting angry, and the babies were chirping frantically. He didn’t know what to do. “Those bees are going to sting the babies and kill them!” he cried.
He ran into the house to tell his mom. After she saw the bees, she called a teacher at the university. Brian sat in the kitchen, listening to his mom on the phone and watching the birdhouse out the window.
“Are you sure?” Brian’s mother said into the phone. “Well, all right, then. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and said, “He said there’s nothing we can do.”
Brian started to cry. He reached up and hugged his mom. Then he said a prayer in his heart. He asked Heavenly Father to help his mom save those little birds.
In about a minute, Brian’s mom ran over to the fridge. She quickly pulled a great big white onion out of a drawer and chopped it in half. Juices started oozing out of the onion and tears started rolling out of her eyes.
“Here,” she said, handing half to Brian. “Go put this on the bird feeder. Maybe it will scare the bees away.”
Brian took the onion and ran out the door. His eyes had started to water and his nose had started to run by the time he got the onion on the feeder. The bees suddenly swarmed out of the birdhouse and were gone. Brian was relieved, but the mother and father birds still wouldn’t come feed their babies. They stayed on their branch, staring at Brian. One had a worm in its beak; the other had a bug. Brian took the onion off the feeder and threw it away. Then the birds came back to the nest and fed the babies.
Brian smiled and silently thanked Heavenly Father for answering his prayer.

A few years after my baptism, my family became refugees for a second time. The political regime in East Germany perceived my father as a dissident. His life was at risk, and we had to leave the country overnight, leaving behind everything we possessed. Again we had only the clothes we wore, some food for the trip, and family records as well as family pictures. By the time I was 11, we had been refugees twice within only seven years. But this time we had already received the gospel of Jesus Christ. We had made covenants with the Lord through baptism, and we came to a branch in Frankfurt, West Germany, with other members who had the same principles and precious values.

Into this branch, just a few years later, came a young widow with her two daughters. The missionaries had found this beautiful family, which included my future wife, Harriet.

When I saw Harriet for the first time, with her dark brown eyes, I thought, “These missionaries are really doing a great job!” Even as a teenager I liked Harriet quite a lot. My bold advances, however, showed only marginal success. I tried, for instance, to influence the seating at the sacrament table so I could pass the sacrament to her. This did not impress her very much. On my way to Church activities during the week, I usually rode my nice bicycle and often stopped at their home to ask if Harriet would want to have a ride to church on my bicycle. Harriet always declined. Sometimes, however, her mother was there and would say, “Harriet will walk, but I will gladly ride with you on your bike to church.” This wasn’t really what I was hoping for at the time, but I later realized it is an advantage to be on good terms with the mother of the girl of your dreams!

My mother and my mother-in-law both had the same strong faith that blessed them with the gifts of the Spirit. And they blessed not only my life, but the lives of generations to come.

President David O. McKay (1873–1970) said the principal reason the Church was organized was “to make life sweet today, to give contentment to the heart today, to bring salvation today. … Some of us look forward to a time in the future—salvation and exaltation in the world to come—but today is part of eternity” (Pathways to Happiness [1957], 291–2).

What you do today will determine how the restored gospel principles can influence the nations of the world tomorrow. It will determine how these heavenly rays of the gospel will light every land in the future.

By living up to this mission—in whatever life circumstance you find yourself—the Lord our God has responsibilities and blessings in store for each of you individually, far beyond your imagination.

May I invite you to rise to the great potential within you. But don’t reach beyond your capacity. Don’t set goals beyond your capacity to achieve. Don’t feel guilty or dwell on thoughts of failure. Don’t compare yourself with others. Do the best you can, and the Lord will provide the rest. Have faith and confidence in Him, our Savior, and you will see miracles happen in your life and the lives of your loved ones. The virtue of your own personal life will be a light to those who sit in darkness, and it will be because you are a living witness of the fulness of the restored gospel.

Wherever you are on this beautiful, but often troubled earth of ours, you can be the one to “succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (D&C 81:5).

Some people think that babies are a bother, but Hans wasn’t. He was good. He would watch us, then try to do everything we did. He used to go around the house picking up little pieces of rubbish that no one else saw. Then he would run to the wastebasket and throw them in. He always tried to help everybody. He was smart about it too. One day he decided to help Mom. He climbed up onto the stove when he was alone in the kitchen. Later we found him sitting beside the burners stirring a pot full of cold water. When we came in, he clapped his hands and said, “Oh, see!”

My family has been reminded of this recently in a very poignant way. I have 17 nieces and nephews, who are a pure delight. We have hiked and biked and fasted and prayed together. And recently we have cried together. A few weeks ago we suffered a crushing loss when an accident took the lives of two of my sister’s children—Amanda, who was 11, and Tanner, who was 15. Because we have lived together in love, we have truly wept for the loss of them that died (see D&C 42:45).

Our friends in our hometown wept with us, most of them nonmembers, and we knew their hearts might never be more open to truth than on the day two caskets rested in our little Kansas chapel. So we dedicated the funeral entirely to testifying of Christ and the restored gospel. Afterwards many told us how moved they were by what they heard and by what they felt. Some have even asked to learn more. Now, we don’t know if anyone affected by our children’s deaths will join the Church. But this we do know—that standing up for what we believe and teaching the gospel to friends who had never before been willing to listen helped soothe our pain and bring us joy as a family.

One day when President Hinckley was about five years old, he was sitting on his front porch with some friends. A family of another race walked down the street. Young Gordon and his friends made some unkind remarks. His mother talked with them and told them that all people are sons and daughters of God. That day he learned we must respect and help one another, regardless of race, religion, wealth, or anything else.

Then there was Peter, youngest of the sons. He knew something his brothers didn’t know. Peter received his patriarchal blessing in 1986, after the temple dedication. He talks about going to a small town on the Polish border, attending a small branch in a shabby rented building rich with the Spirit, and then going to the home of the patriarch.
“He told me that I would go on a full-time mission. I would serve in a different country and a different language, and it would be in my youth. I was crying, I felt so close to the Lord in that moment. Afterward, I read my patriarchal blessing every night. I prayed. And I started saving money for my mission. I knew I was going soon.”
Peter just didn’t know where he would be going. (He thought somehow it might be Russia, since he spoke that language fairly well.) And, for some reason, he shared his blessing with his parents but not his brothers. “I was kind of different in my family. I always said, ‘We’re going on a mission, and it’s going to be great. We’re going to change things.’ My brother Matthias was skeptical. But I had my patriarchal blessing. I knew.”
Still, Peter didn’t know how it would happen.
Then, not long before the hated wall came down, the East German government began to allow a few full-time missionaries into East Germany for the first time in fifty years. At the same time, a handful of East German missionaries were allowed out of the country to serve in other nations. For some reason, none of the Lehmanns were permitted to be part of that group.
But then came those November days that were replayed on TV screens all over the world. East Berliners sat atop the wall with hammers and iron bars, tearing apart a barrier that had already been undermined by faith and prayer.
Peter was the first to submit his mission papers. Matthias and Michael followed soon after. All three were called to missions in the United States: Michael in the Tennessee Nashville Mission, Matthias in the Idaho Boise Mission, and Peter in the Colorado Denver Mission.

Sophie’s grandparents live by the sea. Sophie and her younger brother, Jacob, love to help their grandmother clean the beach by carefully removing pieces of glass and other items. They make sure the beach is clean and safe for both animals and people.
Sophie says, “Jesus taught us to love each other and to help each other. Taking care of nature and helping to keep it clean and safe for humans and animals is a way of helping others. By taking care of the world around us, we take care of the home of all people. The world God created for us is a great blessing!”

Wilford loved to play with his two brothers, Thompson and Azmon. They spent many happy hours playing in the barn or outside in the fields.
One Saturday evening the boys were sitting around the house with nothing to do. Thompson suggested that they explore the attic.
The boys’ father had told them not to play in the attic. It was dark and dangerous. Wilford hesitated because he didn’t want to disobey his father. But the mystery of the attic attracted him, and he agreed to join in the adventure.
The boys raced up the stairs, eager to see what treasures they would find in the forbidden room.
Just before Wilford got to the top stair, he tripped and fell all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
Wilford felt a horrible pain in his arm, and he knew that he had broken it. It took a long time for his arm to heal, and Wilford learned how important it was to be obedient.
From then on, not only did Wilford obey his parents, but he also obeyed the Lord. And many years later, Wilford Woodruff became the fourth President of the Church.

“Mom, I don’t think I want to go to school today.”
“Of course you don’t. You never do.”
“Maybe I’m sick today. You know something? I think I have a headache. I really do. I think I’ll stay home today.”
“Laurie, I am counting to three. One …”
“Mom, you only count to three for little kids. I’m in high school.”
“Well, sometimes I forget. Come on, get out of bed.”
I crawled out of bed. There’s something futile about trying to get out of going to school when you’re too tired to make up a good excuse. At least Mom hadn’t noticed my messy room.
When I entered the kitchen for breakfast, my brother Jon was putting six or seven peanut butter sandwiches on his plate.
“Look, Laurie!” he said. “Guess how many I’ve got?”
“Oh, about 952,” I said. I got out the cold cereal and started to read the newspaper.
“Can I read the comics?” Jon asked.
“I guess so.”
“Jon!” Mom said it so loud that Jon dropped his peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Bugs Bunny. “Jon! What are you doing with all that junk on your plate?”
Jon grinned sheepishly. “I guess I’m eating,” he said, as he tried to get his sandwich off the paper.
“Don’t take so many at once. I just came up to remind you that your room needs cleaning.”
I was reading something about how the governor wanted some bill passed or something. I knew I would probably get yelled at about my room too.
“And yours, young lady …”
I looked up and said, “I know. I’ll clean it up when I get home from school.”
I finished my breakfast and went downstairs. Then it hit me like the shock of running through the sprinklers: the algebra test! No wonder I didn’t want to go to school.
It was the start of a glorious day.
My first period class was gym. I put on my green bag that is generally termed a gym suit and started out the door to run around the track. You see, our teacher finds it necessary that all young teenage girls become physically fit, and running is supposed to be very good at aiding in the achievement of this goal. I do not find running around the track in my gym suit a time when I feel particularly ravishing. So of course when I emerged from the school door, Dave and his friends were walking across the street. Of all days they picked this one to be late for school! There I was, standing in my lovely apparel.
I couldn’t turn around and go back in the door because everybody was pushing to get out and it was too crowded. I couldn’t jump under a rock because there wasn’t a rock in sight for 50 yards. I would have cried, but that would have made my mascara run. There I was with no alternative but to run with the crowd to the track and pretend I couldn’t hear Dave laughing.
The algebra test was terrible. It had lots of questions like, “If Harold can get to school in 7/8 of an hour riding his bike and in 1 3/5 hours walking, and the sum of the minutes it takes for him to walk to school and ride his bike home 17 times is the same as the number of yards from Harold’s house to the school, please set up an equation that will give you 1/3 of the distance of the round trip.” I’m not sure if that was it exactly, but we had a problem something like that. I missed about half the problems.
Then in history Mr. Crispin called on me to give three ways that the Industrial Revolution affected the West. I started to talk, but I really didn’t know what to say, and after making a fool of myself for two minutes, I was invited to sit down.
To finish it off, my English teacher, Mr. Drake, thought we were all spoiling for some intriguing activity for the night and assigned us five pages of grammar in our workbooks. That, added to history and biology, gave me so much homework that I was afraid I would have to take two trips to the bus just to load up my scholastic supplies for the evening.
When I finally got home, I opened the door and threw my books on the floor.
“Laurie, would you mind running over to Mrs. Jacobson’s house to get a pan that she borrowed from me?”
What a greeting!
“Why don’t you make Jon go?” I asked. “I’m tired.”
“Jon is playing with Brian.”
“Why can’t Mrs. Jacobson bring it over herself? She’s the one who borrowed it.”
“Mrs. Jacobson is getting old, and she can’t walk very far at a time.”
“You know,” I said, “that would make a good algebra problem! If it takes Mrs. Jacobson three hours to bring a pan to Laurie’s house, and two hours for her to return to her house empty-handed—”
“Laurie! Go on over to Mrs. Jacobson’s house right now.”
I decided it was useless to fight the taskmaster, so I turned around and walked to Mrs. Jacobson’s house.
I rang the doorbell, and she invited me in. She told me to sit down, so I picked a green sofa and collapsed into it. Mrs. Jacobson brought out a tray of cookies.
“I just made them,” she said. “Have one!”
“Thanks,” I said, and bit in, tasting rye. I hate rye! When Mrs. Jacobson went in to get the pan, I stuffed the cookie under the cushion.
I don’t know for sure why I did it. I think it was mostly that I don’t get along with rye, but it was partly that I had to wear a green gym suit when people could see me, that Mr. Crispin called on me in the middle of class, that I had tons of homework, that a teacher would actually give a test on how much 1/3 of the round trip was, and finally that Mom would make me come to some old lady’s house just for a pan on a day like this. I was tired of the conspiracy against me.
When Mrs. Jacobson came back with the pan, she asked me if I’d like another cookie. I told her no, thanks, I was on a diet. Then she said she had some skim milk in her fridge, and would I like some? I told her that I wouldn’t really care for any and that I had to get back to do my homework.
When I got home, I started to feel guilty about what I’d done. It really wasn’t fair to take out my frustrations on some nice old lady’s rye cookie and couch. What if Mrs. Jacobson found the cookie?
I felt guilty about it all the next day. By the time I got home, I had a stomach ache, and all my internal organs were yelling at me for worrying. However, I can’t just say, “I guess I will quit worrying now.” When I’m worried, I have to do something to make the problem go away. I knew what I needed to do. I had to get that cookie out from under that green sofa before Mrs. Jacobson found it. I started forming all sorts of plans to get the cookie back.
I could sneak in during the middle of the night and steal the cookie. But if I did that, I might wake her up, and she would get scared thinking I was a burglar coming to steal her skim milk or something. I could get my best friend Julie to ring the doorbell and pretend to take a survey while I ran in the back door and retrieved the cookie. I could tell Mrs. Jacobson that I needed service hours and that I would clean her house for her. At last I decided on an easier plan.
I rang the doorbell, and Mrs. Jacobson answered it. She opened the door and just stared at me for a minute. Then she suddenly hugged me. I hate to be hugged.
“Oh it’s you, angel dear!” Oh heavens, I thought. Don’t tell me I’m dead already.
“I’ve come to visit.”
“Oh bless your heart! Come in, dear.” I hate being called dear.
“Sit down,” she said, pointing to the familiar green couch. I decided to really ham it up.
“Oh my,” I said, trying not to laugh, “I’m so tired. Could I have a glass of water?”
“Why of course you may,” she smiled, and she turned to do my bidding. As soon as she was in the kitchen where she couldn’t see me, I began my task frantically.
I took out the plastic bag I had stuffed in my pocket and lifted up the cushion, revealing about four major pieces of a rye cookie.
I was sweeping the smaller crumbs into my bag when I heard her coming back. I pushed the bag into my pocket and tried to fix the cushion. I turned around quickly to see her looking at me with a nervous smile.
“I see you’ve noticed how dirty my couch is. I must have the cleaning lady vacuum it.”
“Oh, I wasn’t looking at the dirt …” Suddenly I realized that that hadn’t sounded too good. “What I mean is, I, uh, was looking at how well it is made. It’s certainly very nice.”
“Thank you. Here’s your water, dear.” (I wished she wouldn’t call me that.)
I stayed for about ten minutes, and we talked about her cat and how the dear thing should have kittens any time now and how warm the weather was. I must say I was relieved when I was safe at home with the cookie crumbs in my garbage can.
It was some weeks later when I decided to visit Mrs. Jacobson again. I’d been thinking about how awful I was to put the cookie under the couch and what a hypocrite I had been to get it back. She was really quite a nice old lady. I decided to go visit her just one more time.
Once I got there, I didn’t know what to say. What did I have in common with a 70-year-old lady? I didn’t want to spend half an hour talking about cats again.
I tried to think of a question to ask her. It occurred to me that maybe she wasn’t sure what to say to a 16-year-old girl. I asked her how she’d met her husband. She said she had a job in a department store where her husband used to buy things.
Then she asked me about school, and I told her about our gym suits and how embarrassing it was to go outside wearing one. She smiled, and we really had a good time. We didn’t talk about the weather but about things we were both interested in. We talked about the mountains and how pretty they are. I told her about how I planned to go to college and major in psychology. When I went home, I was glad that I had gone.
I rarely had a chance to talk to someone who listened so well and seemed to be interested in me. It seemed my friends liked to talk only about clothes. My mom listened to me, but she was always reminding me to clean my room and sit up straight—and have I brushed my teeth?
It was two years ago that I first visited Mrs. Jacobson. Since then I have gone many times to visit her. She often tells me stories about when she was young. She dropped out of school after eighth grade to help her mother with her younger brothers and sisters. She had a job once, living on a farm. She helped the lady with cleaning, cooking, and taking care of the children all day long, all week, for a dollar a week.
We had Mrs. Jacobson over for Christmas dinner last year. I now have someone to visit with when I feel depressed, like the other day when I went out with Dave and I spilled spaghetti all over and felt like climbing under the table. I told Mrs. Jacobson about that, and she told me about how once when she was dating her husband, he came to visit her one evening. She thought he was coming a half hour later than he did. He came to the door while she was in her room. Mrs. Jacobson’s sister invited him in to sit down and started to go up the stairs to announce that he was there. Mrs. Jacobson came out of her bedroom door, intending to go downstairs and borrow a necklace. She started singing a song and was halfway down the stairs when she saw the young man grinning up at her. I guess everybody does things like that sometimes.
I think Mrs. Jacobson is glad when I visit her. She lives all by herself, and I don’t think she has much to do besides watch soap operas. Her eyes are getting bad, and she can’t read very well anymore.
Yesterday I went to visit Mrs. Jacobson. I walked in and sat down on the green sofa. She asked me to wait just a minute, and she went into the kitchen. She returned with a tray of cookies. I bit in and tasted rye. I smiled and ate the whole thing.

The Children and Youth Development Program was regarded by some as a very complex program.
By virtue of my calling as the area organizational adviser in charge of Relief Society, Young Women, and Primary, I had the opportunity to meet with several children, youths and their leaders and talk to them concerning their goals and their plans to achieve this great work.
I found that many of these children and youths found it difficult to set achievable goals and make plans to achieve them. I decided to study the pamphlet and guidebook to better understand it. I then decided to help the children and youth make it a Christ-centered and a learner-focused program to be able to better explain to the children, youth, and their leaders on how the program works and how to help them set more realistic and achievable goals.
While at it, a thought came to my heart: “Why don’t you practice what you preach?”
This thought so pierced my heart that I couldn’t shake it off. The thought of me mentoring and supporting youths and their leaders to develop and improve themselves and not leading by example was a no-no! These thoughts fueled me to look at my life and set goals according to the four areas of growth. I then went to Heavenly Father in prayer and the impression came more strongly, lead by example. Hence, I decided to work on the Children and Youth development program myself!
Physically: There was a need for me to improve my appearance I decided to learn how to apply a proper and modest make-up, make clothes for myself and family. I went online, downloaded video tutorials on the combination of simple makeup colors and how to measure, cut and sew dresses. I did set a short-term goal of three months to achieve this. Today I make clothes for myself, family, friends and even sisters around me wear my designs – Hachron Designs.
Intellectually: To improve myself intellectually, I decided to continue my education by going for my master’s degree and a certificate course in BYU-Pathway Worldwide. This was a 12-month goal. Today I have earned a master of science in mathematics/statistics, a certificate with BYU-Pathway. Presently, I am undergoing my doctorate degree program.
Socially: I decided to manage my time so I would have more time for my loved ones and boost my mental health. Sometimes it is difficult to navigate all these activities while magnifying my calling, attending lectures, meeting up to make dresses and attending training meetings. But when Heavenly Father sees the sincere desires of our hearts and determination to learn, grow and develop, He gives us renewed strength and sends angels our way to lighten our load—just like He gave me a very beautiful and supportive family and a very reliable and dependable secretary.
Spiritually: I decided to say my prayers frequently and fervently, study the scriptures more often and be consciously engaged in family history work. I have been able to complete my family tree to the ninth generation and have extended it to my in-laws. Now my family tree is as large as an obeche tree. I feel closer to Heavenly Father and the Saviour Jesus Christ as I involve my family in prayers and scripture study. Also, I needed to minister more to not only my assigned sisters but also to everyone around me.
I recognize the importance of continuous learning and skill development to unlock personal potential and navigate the complexities of this world.
Another skill that significantly contributed to my personal growth was time management. I try to plan my day, week, month, and year with my family and with my secretary to balance both my personal life and my calling. As I sharpened my ability to prioritize tasks and allocate time effectively, I found myself more organized and less stressed. This not only improved my academic performance but also allowed me to practice and sharpen my sewing skills and learn new styles and designs, visit more sisters, and feel the Saviour’s love whenever I minister to them. Balancing responsibilities and passions created a more fulfilling and well-rounded life for me.
The Children and Youth Program has been a transformative force in my personal journey. A doctorate degree in mathematics and statistics in the making, a make-up and fashion designing skill, time management skills, and ministering as the Saviour would, have collectively sculpted a better version of myself. The continuous pursuit of learning and skill refinement remains an ongoing process, ensuring that I am equipped to face the ever-evolving challenges of life with confidence and adaptability.
Indeed, the Lord does speak through His prophet. Heeding the words and counsels of the prophet and our leaders has brought immense blessings and joy to my life and that of my family at large. If I can develop so much in a year, imagine how much more our children and youth who begin this program very early will develop over the years!

Though he was extremely demanding of himself in working hard to pursue excellence, Heber J. Grant was not one to criticize imperfection in others. One day when he was a young man, a speaker in church made some grammatical errors in his opening remarks. Heber was sure he could get ample material for a class at school, for which he had been assigned to bring examples of grammatical mistakes to be corrected. As he began to write, he listened for errors. But instead, he began to feel the Spirit of the Lord in what the man was saying, and he wept as testimony was born of the divinity of the Savior, the mission of Joseph Smith, and the work of the Lord.
“During the years that have passed since then,” President Grant later said, “I have never been shocked or annoyed by grammatical errors or mispronounced words on the part of those preaching the gospel. I have realized that it was like judging a man by the clothing of his language. From that day to this the one thing above all others that has impressed me has been the Spirit, the inspiration of the living God that an individual had when proclaiming the gospel, and not the language; because after all is said and done there are a great many who have never had the opportunity in the financial battle of life to accumulate the means whereby they could be clothed in an attractive manner. I have endeavored, from that day to this, and have been successful in my endeavor, to judge men and women by the spirit they have.”

Going to a national jamboree may not seem like such a big deal for some Scouts, but for the Scouts of Troop 469, Fairport Ward, Rochester New York Palmyra Stake, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They were the first LDS troop from the northeast region to attend.
It took the Scouts and their families almost a year of hard work to raise the funds. But finally after many of the Scouts had participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant, the day arrived when they would hop in the car and camp with over 50,000 other Scouts and leaders from all over the world at Fort A.P Hill in Virginia. Not only did they have the opportunity to work on merit badges, compete in sports, and participate in a number of other activities, but they also enjoyed Church meetings with General Authorities who attended the jamboree. “I wish all young men in the Church could have heard their powerful message,” said Scout Jeff Rotz.
“Though the showers were cold and everyone had to get up at 6:30 A.M., it was really fun!” Jeff continued. “I felt as if every leader and Scout was my brother. If I hadn t come to this jamboree, I would have missed out on the chance of a lifetime.”

In 1982, we moved to Hemel Hempstead (Hertfordshire). The meetings were now consolidated, and I stayed for the whole three hours. I was called as the elders quorum president. An elderly missionary couple were assigned to visit my home, and for the first time Rajinder said a prayer and felt the Spirit. I subsequently baptised her. We were later sealed in the London England Temple with our children.

On the subject of prayer, Elder Abrea said, “I know my prayers have been answered many, many times. One of the first times I remember was when I was eleven years old. My father also used to sell a variety of grains that had to be mashed for cattle to eat. One day he had an appointment and he couldn’t finish mashing the grain. I told him to leave me with the machinery and that I could finish it for him. He said he felt I was too young and wouldn’t be able to do it.
“‘Oh, father,’ I insisted, ‘trust me, I can do it.’
“Well, he decided to let me try. The job took about four or five hours, and I began by putting the grain into the machine. Things were going all right and then suddenly the machine jammed. I knew that you had to take one of the parts off the machine and put it on again and then it would work. I removed the part but I couldn’t get it back on the machine. I started to cry because I didn’t want to disappoint my father.
“At that time I had been a member of the Church for about six months, and I remembered one of the lessons I learned in Primary. Still crying, I kneeled down. I remember I said, ‘Father, I need Thy help, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.’ After that I went back to the machine and tried again, and it worked!
“The next testimony meeting was the first time I gave my testimony in public. I expressed my experience with prayer very simply and sat down. I know that the Lord does hear and answer our prayers.

It was really late, and my sister was asleep, but I was still up reading. I held my book and flashlight under the covers. If Mom or Dad came to see if I was still awake, I could switch off my flashlight, close my eyes, and they’d never know I wasn’t really asleep.
I just couldn’t put my book down yet. It was full of scary stories, and I had to know what happened next.
Scritch, scritch. I jumped. What was that sound? It was coming from my window. It sounded just like in the story I was reading, where a girl was hiding from a ghost in her house.
I shivered as the sound came again. Scritch, scritch, meow. I slowly let out my breath. It was just our cat scratching the window. Maybe it was time to put the book down and go to sleep.
I stuck my bookmark between the pages and hid the book under my pillow. Then I switched off the flashlight. Now it was totally dark. The bed creaked as I rolled over. What was that shadow in the corner? Had that been there before?
I pulled the covers up over my head and tried to fall asleep. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl in the story. What would I do if a ghost was in my house?!
Ghosts aren’t real, I told myself. It’s just a story. I kept telling myself that, and finally I fell asleep.
The next day was a book sale at school. I’d been saving up my chore money for weeks. When it was my class’s turn, I went straight to the scary stories.
At the bottom of the stack was a book with an old picture of a creepy house. “I bet it’s haunted,” I told my friend Julia. I tucked it under my arm and found two other books to try.
That night I started my new books. I read straight through the first one. You had to read scary stories fast. If you thought about something scary for too long, it just made you more scared.
But the next day, as I started reading the book with the haunted house, I did stop to think. I’d been reading scary stories for days. I’d hardly set the books down. I’d hardly even left my room. And my brain was full of lots of scary things. I thought about ghosts and people getting lost in the woods and monsters that tricked and ate you. All that stuff made me scared—even while sitting in my safe room with the sun shining through the window.
I set my book down and took a deep breath. These books didn’t make me happy. They didn’t make me feel good. I was sad about lots of things, and these books just made me feel worse.
I closed my eyes and leaned against my bed. Dear Heavenly Father, I prayed, I don’t think these scary books are very good for me. Please help me know what to do and to be strong enough to do it.
When I opened my eyes, I looked down at my new books. “I don’t need these,” I said. It was time to find something that made me feel happy, not scared and sad.
Turn to page 20 to find some great books to read!
I picked up the books and pulled the rest of my scary stories off my shelf. It was a lot of books. But I carried them all to our recycling bin. I felt much lighter as I dumped them in.
And when I walked away, I didn’t look back.