Gospel Story Finder

Kaden was riding in the van with his mom. Mom had just bought some things at the department store. “I also got some bug tattoos,” she told him. She knew that he and his brothers liked to wear these stick-on tattoos.
“Why did you waste your money on them?” he asked.
“I didn’t,” she replied. “The store was giving them away free with anything that was bought.”
“But, Mom, the prophet said we are not supposed to have tattoos, so why would you take them?” He thought for a minute, then said, “May I use them as stickers on the front drawers of my dresser?”
And that is what he did with them. There was no question in his mind about tattoos of any kind! It was a good reminder for Mom.

There was a time in Sasha’s life, however, when the enticements of the world almost overwhelmed her. She loves to dance and has trained from an early ageto become a professional dancer. Several months after her baptism, she became a member of a professional modern dance company in St. Petersburg. Most of the other dancers in the group were adults. None of them were members of the Church, and none lived Church standards.
When Sasha was 15, the dance company started preparing for a performance tour to Switzerland. It was a chance of a lifetime. “Every day I danced for about eight hours,” she says. “I was preparing with all my heart for the trip.” After a few months of single-minded devotion to dancing, Sasha had drifted dangerously far from her mother, her schoolwork, and the Church.
Fortunately, she still had an LDS friend—Anya. One day Anya’s mother, a member of the Church, said: “Sasha, stop! Do you think you can remain clean in that environment? Those people don’t keep the Word of Wisdom or the law of chastity. Do you think the Holy Ghost can remain with you?”
“Those words went to my heart,” she says. “I suddenly realized I was surrounded by a spiritual darkness, and I was frightened. Anya and I fell to our knees and started praying. After our prayer, there seemed to be a light around us. I knew I must leave the dance group.”
But how could she actually leave? How could she let down the other dancers? Sasha asked for a priesthood blessing. Then she took Anya with her to break the news to her dance director. “When we reached the hall, I saw my director sitting there smoking, and she told me to hurry and dress for the rehearsal,” she remembers. “I told her I would not work there any more—but she wouldn’t listen. ‘How dare you do this?’ she asked. ‘Why do you betray us?’ She caught hold of me and took me in to the rest of the group. I was trying to talk to her, but I felt I didn’t have any strength; I couldn’t say anything.”
Fortunately, Anya was still at her side—saying nothing, but silently praying for her friend. “Suddenly I felt I had the power to talk to the group,” Sasha says. She explained why she was leaving. “It was difficult because they were my friends.”
When the director realized Sasha was not going to change her mind, she called a substitute and told Sasha to teach her everything. “I started dancing,” says Sasha, “and I was crying because I knew I was doing those dances for the last time.”
When she arrived home, she was exhausted. “But I knew I had won! I prayed that night and every night since then. I understood that for God we sometimes have to sacrifice our most beloved things. My new life really began from that moment.”
Sasha was reconciled with her mother, finished high school, and found another way to share her talent for dancing. She has recently completed a degree in dance at a college of culture and arts in St. Petersburg. Most important, her heart is centered again on the Lord.

I was born in Port Moresby, Papua, New Guinea, the third child in my family. Ours was a poor family. My childhood was not marked by happy occasions such as Christmas and birthday celebrations that most children remember as they grow up. In fact, it was at these times that we were the most unhappy, knowing and seeing how other children were given gifts and treats.
We were poor for the most part because my father spent his small paycheck drinking on weekends. We were always hungry. When my mother tried to make Father see how we were suffering, he would become violently angry and would strike her until she was hurt and sobbing. How hard she tried to defend us children and care for us.
Christmases came and went. It was always the same for us. There was no money for presents and goodies. My sister and I would wake early on Christmas morning to the shouts of excitement from the neighborhood children who had found Christmas presents waiting for them.
Sometimes we children went off to the city dump to find something we could use or play with to comfort us. I longed for something new and shiny, a special gift just meant for me at Christmas.
Our lives began to change spiritually, but financially we were still poor. My childish longing for a real Christmas with presents meant just for me never materialized.
I am a grown young man now. I am fulfilling a mission for the Church. Now I can look back and realize I have been blessed with some very special gifts—not the ones that children open at Christmastime, but gifts that are forever and can be cherished each day of my life.

Lucy also exercised faith and liberally drew upon the power of God to heal her from physical affliction. While living in Kirtland, Ohio, she made a concerted effort to study the Bible, Book of Mormon, and Doctrine and Covenants. Then, an accident occurred in her home, where she fell down the stairs face first and severely bruised her head. Her eyes became inflamed until she went blind. The ensuing distress Lucy endured for days was indescribable. Turning to priesthood power when medical remedies had failed, Lucy called upon elders to administer to her. Instead of asking for the restoration of her sight, Lucy asked for something better. She requested that the elders ask God to not only heal her eyes but ensure she would never have to use glasses again. After the elders administered to her and removed their hands from her head, Lucy read a passage in the Book of Mormon and never wore glasses again.7

A cloud of dust blew along the canal bank where Sharif braked to a stop. And the hot Egyptian wind made his blue and white striped galabeya (shirt-like robe) whip around his legs as he climbed off the bicycle. He smiled at the big boy in the shirt and pants.
“Mutashakkir (Thank you) for letting me ride it, Karim! Your bicycle is beautiful!”
“You’re welcome,” replied the boy. “I must go now. My father wants me to take some medicine to one of his patients.”
Sharif watched his friend pedal off toward the village of mud-brick houses. He scuffed at the ground with his bare feet.
“Oh, I wish, I wish, I wish,” he recited to himself. “I wouldn’t even care if it fell out of the sky and hit me right on top of my head!”
“What’s going to hit you on your head?” asked a small voice behind him.
Startled, Sharif looked around. His little sister, Nadia, was standing there.
“Aeeb (For shame), Nadia! You scared me,” scolded Sharif.
“Ana aasefa (I’m sorry), my brother. But what’s going to fall on your head?” Nadia asked again, twisting one dark braid around her finger.
“Oh, that,” answered Sharif. “I was wishing for a bicycle, my sister. But Baba (Papa) says it would cost more pounds than he earns in a whole year! Someday though …”
“Sharif! Nadia!” a voice called.
“That’s Baba,” said Nadia. “I forgot that he sent me to get you.”
“Yalla beena (Come on, let’s go)!” shouted Sharif.
He pulled his galabeya up to his knees and off they ran toward home, Nadia’s braids flying in the air behind her.
Sharif’s father smiled when the children reached him. “Sharif, I have a big job for you,” he said. “Your Uncle Hamid is not feeling well this summer. Since your cousin Tarek cannot deliver the milk to all the customers by himself, I want you to help until your uncle is better. Of course you will have to ride Uncle Hamid’s old bicycle, with the milk cans on the sides.”
Sharif could hardly believe his ears. He would get to ride a bicycle every morning!
“Oh, Baba!” he answered. “I am sorry that Uncle Hamid is sick. But I will do a good job of helping Tarek. You’ll see!”
The next morning Sharif was up before the sun. He ate his beans, bread, and white cheese quickly, then ran next door to Cousin Tarek’s house. Together they went out to milk the water buffaloes. Then they attached two covered milk cans to each of the bicycles, Tarek’s shiny new one and Uncle Hamid’s old one.
The cans were so heavy it made hard work pedaling along the dirt road. Riding very slowly at first, Sharif delivered milk to the houses on one side of the road while Tarek took the other side. At each house Sharif carefully lifted a can off his bicycle and poured some creamy white milk into the pan that was brought out to him.
“Mutashakkir,” the customers said to Sharif and dropped the shiny piasters (coins) into his hand.
The scorching sun rose in the sky. Sharif was hot, and the splashing of the milk as he poured made him thirsty. He tried to ignore the cool sound and to become better at riding the bicycle. He learned to make change when his customers did not have the exact number of piasters.
Summer was almost over and Uncle Hamid was feeling better. Now Sharif had only one more day to ride the bicycle on the milk deliveries.
That night his uncle called to him from his front door. “Tarek tells me you have done a good job of helping him,” he said. “Since tomorrow is your last day delivering, how would you like to keep the bicycle for the rest of the day? You may bring it to me before it is time to take the milk the next morning.”
“Oh, Uncle!” cried Sharif excitedly. “That is just what I’d love to do! And I will take very good care of your bicycle!”
The next day Sharif worked faster than ever. He didn’t even think of being thirsty. All he could think of was having the bicycle to himself when he was through.
At last he and Tarek returned to the house and took off the empty milk cans. “Mas salama (See you later)!” he called to his uncle as he pedaled away down the road.
Sharif pumped as hard as he could, and the breeze cooled his face. It was like flying! He waved to the fellaheen (farmers) working in the fields. He weaved in and out the rows of tall palm trees.
At last he reached the main road that led after many miles to the great city of Cairo. The smooth pavement stretched invitingly before him. Up and onto the pavement he went, urging the bicycle to greater and greater speeds. He pedaled until his legs were only blurs, then leaned back and let the bicycle coast.
Cars and buses roared by, enveloping him in clouds of smoke. But he didn’t care. Faster and faster he sped, watching the pavement under him whiz by. A shout made him jerk his head up. “Haaseb (Look out)!”
Not more than thirty feet in front of him was a flock of sheep being herded across the road. It was too late to stop!
Sharif pulled the bicycle sharply to the right. There was a screech of rubber and clatter of metal as bike and boy careened off the road and into the ditch.
Sharif lay still for a moment. What happened? he wondered. Then he remembered. The sheep and grumbling sheepherder were already across the road and into the field on the other side.
Sharif looked at the bike, and a sick feeling crept into his stomach. The handlebars were twisted, and one wheel was bent out of shape.
He pulled himself and the bicycle upright, then began the long walk home, pushing the crippled bicycle. His thoughts whirled around inside his head. I’m not so big after all. I promised to take care of the bicycle, and look what I’ve done! he mourned.
By the time he reached home, the sun had already gone down. He was glad there was no one outside to see him. With his father’s tools he began to work on the bicycle. It was lucky he had helped his father fix the farm equipment so many times. He hammered and bent and twisted the metal back into shape. His body ached and his eyes kept trying to close. At last he stood back and looked at his work. Well, he said to himself, that is the best I can do.
Slowly he pushed the bicycle next door to his uncle’s house and left it beside his cousin’s shiny new one. Then he went home to a cold dinner, a scolding, and bed.
Most of the next day Sharif spent trying to think of how to tell his uncle about the accident. It’s such an old bicycle; it already had its share of dents and scratches, Sharif told himself. Should I even tell Uncle Hamid about it?
In the early afternoon his father came back from the village. “Uncle Hamid is coming to eat with us,” he announced. “He wants to talk to you, Sharif.”
Sharif felt his face turn red. Uncle Hamid knows about the accident! he decided.
As Sharif’s mother set an extra place at the table, Uncle Hamid appeared at the door. “Asallamu alikum (Greetings)!” he said.
“Ahlen wa salen (Welcome)!” they answered.
“Uncle, I must tell you—” Sharif began nervously, as his uncle sat down.
“One moment, boy,” interrupted Uncle Hamid. “Since I am the guest, it is my turn to speak first.” Uncle Hamid cleared his throat. “Your cousin Tarek has decided to study at the university in Cairo,” he began proudly.
“But what has this—” Sharif started to ask.
“Be patient, Sharif,” his uncle went on. “Since Tarek will be gone, I’ll need someone to help me milk the buffaloes and deliver the milk before school. I need a boy about your size who can ride a bicycle … and who can fix one!” he added, a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, Uncle Hamid, I—” Sharif started to explain.
But his uncle interrupted him, “Since every spare piaster must be sent to Tarek, he has decided that you can ride his bicycle to deliver milk. If you do your job faithfully and well, at the end of the year the bicycle will become yours.”
“Oh, Uncle!” shouted Sharif, jumping up and hugging his uncle. “When do I start?”
“One thing is certain, my son,” laughed his father. “You will not start anything until we eat dinner!”
And with that, the whole family began to fill their plates.
“I’m glad, my brother,” whispered Nadia, leaning across the table.
“About what?” asked Sharif.
“I’m glad the bicycle didn’t hit you on top of your head!” she answered.
Sharif laughed. “It did, my sister!”
Then he grinned at his uncle. “But it won’t ever do it again!”

Speaking of Brigham Young has reminded me of the Perpetual Education Fund which we have established. It was only a year ago that I first spoke of this in our general conference. The contributions of generous Latter-day Saints have come in to assure us that this endeavor is now on a solid foundation. We will need more yet, but already it has been demonstrated that vast good will come of this undertaking. Young men and women in the underprivileged areas of the world, young men and women who for the most part are returned missionaries, will be enabled to get good educations that will lift them out of the slough of poverty in which their forebears for generations have struggled. They will marry and go forward with skills that will qualify them to earn well and take their places in society where they can make a substantial contribution. They will likewise grow in the Church, filling positions of responsibility and rearing families who will continue in the faith.

I have time to read only one testimonial. It comes from a young man who has been blessed by this program.

He says: “It is so wonderful that I do not have to just dream anymore about my education or my future. The Lord has cleared the way, and I am doing it!
“I am currently attending a great technical institute in our country, where I am studying to become a computer technician. … By going to school, I am discovering my abilities. The discipline I developed on my mission helps me to succeed. … Never before has any young man felt more blessed than I do. The PEF has strengthened my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, more than ever, I feel the responsibility the gospel places upon me to prepare myself to be a better member, a better leader, and a better father. …
“My dear mother, who has sacrificed so much, gets so emotional that she cries when she prays at night because of her gratitude to the Lord. …
“Now, I envision my town being blessed because of me. I envision the Church with leaders who have financial stability and who can support the Lord’s work with all their might, mind, and strength. I see the Church prospering. I am excited to start my own family and teach them that we can be self-sufficient. So I must finish my education. I will then repay the loan quickly to help my fellowmen. … I am grateful for the Savior’s mercy. He truly sustains us with His love.”

And so it goes, my brothers and sisters. As this great work moves across the earth, we are blessing now some 2,400 young people. Others will be blessed.

This story took place in the USA.
Maddie put her dance shoes into her bag. Dance class had just ended, and it was time for lunch. She met her friend Ashlynn at the door.
“What did you think of that new song?” Maddie asked as they walked to the lunchroom. Their class was going to dance to a new song for their final show of the year, in front of all their families.
“It’s OK, I guess,” Ashlynn said.
“Some of the words seemed kind of weird,” Maddie said. “I don’t like it very much.”
Maddie thought she’d be embarrassed if her parents and little sister watched her dance to music like that.
Ashlynn shrugged. “My brother really likes it. He plays it a lot.”
“Oh.” Maddie looked down.
All day the song played in Maddie’s head. She didn’t like how it made her feel. But Ashlynn didn’t think it was bad. Maybe it was OK.
Maddie remembered a home evening lesson her family had about music. Mom said that good music can help people feel the Holy Ghost. And music with bad words could make it harder for them to feel the Spirit. Maybe the Holy Ghost was telling her the song wasn’t good.
She frowned. The song didn’t have any swear words. Was it still bad?
When Maddie got home, she told Mom about the song.
“Can you look at the words and see what you think?” Maddie asked.
Together they found the words of the song online. Maddie watched Mom’s face as she read.
Mom frowned. “I can understand why you don’t like it,” she said. “It doesn’t have swear words, but I don’t think it’s a good song for fourth-graders to dance to. I’ll ask your dance teacher about it tomorrow.”
The next day, Mom talked to her teacher, Mrs. Slater, at school. Maddie was worried that Mrs. Slater would be upset, but she wasn’t! She said she understood why Mom didn’t like the song. But she said it was too late to change the music.
“Maddie doesn’t have to dance to the song,” Mrs. Slater said. “She can sit out for that dance.”
Sitting out by herself sounded scary. Maddie decided to ask Ashylnn to sit out with her. Ashlynn said yes!
When the day of the dance show came, Maddie met Ashlynn in the hall.
“I’m glad you’re going to sit out with me!” Maddie said with a smile.
But Ashlynn didn’t smile back. “I’m not going to sit out after all,” she said, adjusting her skirt. “I’m going to dance with everyone else.”
Maddie felt sick inside. She didn’t want to sit out alone. But she still didn’t feel good about the song.
Maddie lined up with the others and danced to the first song. Then it was time for the next song.
Her heart pounded. She said a little prayer in her heart. Then she took a deep breath, walked to the side of the stage, and sat down.
Once she was off the stage, Maddie felt much better. She watched her classmates dance. When they were done, she clapped. She felt happy and warm.
Maddie smiled. It was scary to sit out all by herself, but she felt good that she had listened to the Holy Ghost.
Illustration by Susana Gurrea

It was Florence’s exemplary behavior that began the series of events that fulfilled her greatest longing. She was back in her hometown of Onitsha, Nigeria, practicing nursing. A woman in the neighborhood noticed that Florence came home after work, rather than going out with men. The woman suggested that her nephew contact Florence.

When Christopher Chukwurah met Florence, he told her immediately that he was looking for a wife. Based on his aunt’s recommendation, he said, he would like to marry Florence. Florence promised to consider his proposal.

“I had been very close to the Lord all my life,” recalls Sister Chukwurah. “Something kept telling me that I had to be close to the Lord.” She had been consistently praying for a good husband—someone who would care for her and who would not drink alcohol. “I wanted a family that would really be anchored on the Savior,” she explains.

When she prayed about Christopher, she had a warm feeling that this was a man who was spiritually inclined. When he returned for her answer, Florence accepted his proposal. They were married on 3 March 1972.

I believe that every member of the Church can be a missionary, including children. When our daughter was in Primary, I had just been called to serve as a mission president in Pennsylvania. One day she came to me and asked me how she could be a missionary too. I suggested that she put a copy of the Book of Mormon on her desk at school. The first day, the other young people made fun of her. But on the second day, a girl came to her and asked her to tell her about the Church. Three months later, this girl was baptized.

"While I was still living in Arizona, we would get to see movies in elementary school. There were a lot of cowboy, cavalry, and Indian films shown. Indians would invariably sweep around the bend and wipe out a whole wagon train. They were savages. Then the cavalry would dash after the Indians, and that whole theater of Indian kids would shout and cheer for the cavalry. No kid wants to identify with the bad guy, and yet we never saw a film where Indians were any good. I was always a cowboy when we played cowboys and Indians. Cowboys rode white horses, carried shiny guns, and always won. Indians weren’t smart enough to win," Tracey said.

Yet deep inside himself Tracey knew he could win. His parents had taught him that winning depends on the individual. They had taught him that if you want to win, you can win. "Feeling inferior is terrible, and I felt it quite often during junior high school," he said.

By the time he got into high school, however, Tracey knew he was breaking out of his inferiority feelings. He ran cross-country for the track team, and he was elected student body vice-president.

"By then I felt great," he said. "I remembered the teachings of my own parents. I knew I had a Father in heaven who loved me and that in his eyes I was just as good as anyone else. I knew I would be judged on my own abilities and what I was able to do with them.

"Now, through the medium of film, I can help other Indians gain a realization of these same true principles."

During the four and one-half years my family lived in South America, we experienced Christmases that were very different from any Christmas we had celebrated in the United States.
Christmases there were simple compared to what we usually experienced. Because of the economic situations of many people, the commercial aspect of the holiday was downplayed.
We returned home to the United States from our South America assignment right at Christmastime. Going into the stores, we saw hundreds of items for sale—games, watches, stereos, televisions, snowmobiles, talking dolls, model airplanes, video recorders, microwave ovens, and so forth. This sudden shift of emphasis was difficult to adjust to.
The question was obvious: “What is Christmas?” In dividing up the word Christmas, we get Christ and mas. In Spanish the word mas means “more.” It seemed to us that to some people Christmas meant mas y mas y mas (“more and more and more”). The “Christ” part of it and the real gift of giving seemed to have been forgotten.
What the true spirit of Christmas is all about—commemorating Jesus’ birth and enjoying the spirit of giving, loving, and caring for one another—seemed to be drowned out, at least for us, in the hustle and bustle. We felt great pressure to buy gifts for others, perhaps more out of obligation than in the true spirit of giving.
We asked ourselves how we could put the true spirit of giving into Christmas (and birthdays) more than we normally did. We decided to use the following guidelines:
Few, if any, gifts may be purchased.
Most gifts must be made using your own hands or given from your own time.
Few, if any, parts for the gifts may be purchased. You must improvise.
You must give of your own time, talents, and self, immersing yourself in the needs of the receiver.
This has been a great experience for our family. We have found that in following such rules we think more deeply about, even pray about, the person to determine what his or her real needs and wants are. Working on a meaningful gift many months before birthdays or Christmas helps us internalize the spirit of giving. This method has also helped us realize that we can be more self-sufficient than we thought.

The last colorful rays of the setting sun had faded into the western horizon, and the dark of the night was beginning to settle down over the desert. My father and I were finishing our evening meal and making plans for the night and the next day.
Father was a large, strong man with a kind heart, and he was happy to have his oldest son with him on this trip. We were going to drive 500 sheep we had just purchased to their new home on the other side of the 85-mile-wide desert. In the desert there was little water, and the days would be hot and the nights cool. The plan was to drive the sheep in the cool of the night and allow them to rest during the heat of the day. We hoped that by doing this the sheep could go without water for three days. Arriving on the other side of the desert, they would be met by a wagon loaded with barrels of water for the thirsty sheep. Our own drinking water for the journey was carried in a ten-gallon milk can in the back of our Model T touring car.
My father was a gentle and considerate man, and he said to me, “I’ll drive the sheep tonight while you sleep. After you awaken in the morning, eat your breakfast, gather up our camp gear, pack it in the car, and then drive down the trail until you catch up with me and the sheep.”
Everything went as planned. Father drove the sheep through the night into the desolate area. When I awakened the next morning, I ate a hurried breakfast and packed the car. As I drove the Model T along the uncertain wagon trail in the desert, it was difficult to see signs of Father and the sheep, and their trail was especially hard to follow through some of the rocky areas. Still, everything went pretty well for the first few miles until there was a fork in the road. I wished Father were there to tell me which road to take. Finally, I decided to take the better road on the right. I drove along without incident for some miles until I came to a deep washout. There the road faded out completely.
Without a map or road signs, fear gripped my heart. I am lost! I thought. What shall I do? Then I remembered the words of my Scout leader: “If you are lost, stop and wait. Then give some kind of a warning signal.”
I took the old 44-40 rifle from the car and fired three quick shots into the air, praying that Father would hear; then I waited and prayed and waited some more.
After what seemed like such a long time, I saw Father in the distance, running toward me and waving his arms! It wasn’t long after that wonderful meeting until we were safely home with the sheep. How relieved and thankful I was for a father who cared and who could show me the right way to go.
I have taken many journeys since that one across the desert, some filled with hazards and important decisions. How grateful I am that we all have a real and loving Father, a Heavenly Father to whom we can call when there are two roads and no road signs to guide the way.

A newly married graduate student at England’s University of Oxford, Gerrit W. Gong learned through personal experience that when we love the Lord and trust Him, He will help us, guide us, and strengthen us.

Gerrit was a Rhodes Scholar working to complete two graduate degrees, one of them a doctorate. At the same time, he was serving in the Oxford Ward bishopric. He and his wife, Susan, remembered advice that Elder David B. Haight (1906–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave when he performed their marriage in the Salt Lake Temple. “He told us always to have a calling,” Elder Gong says. “We knew if we trusted God and did our best, He would help us.”

Gerrit and Susan did receive “divine help and tender mercies,” he says. While continuing in the bishopric, Gerrit finished all the academic requirements for a doctoral degree, except his dissertation. He asked the bishop of the Oxford Ward, Alan Webster, for a priesthood blessing. In the blessing, Gerrit received this promise: “Continue doing all you can, and the Lord will bless you.”

Two ward members who were experienced legal secretaries volunteered to help type his manuscript, and Gerrit was able to finish his dissertation in a few months. In fact, he completed both a master’s and a doctoral degree in just over three years. Upon graduation he also accepted a faculty research position at the university. His experience at Oxford strengthened his trust in the Lord, trust that endures to this day and will continue to bless Gerrit W. Gong as he now serves in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

This great caring about how we behave toward everyone around us was one of the great lessons President McKay taught. On the trip to Europe to dedicate the temple sites in Switzerland and England, President McKay was surrounded by eager English youth seeking autographs from him. The first in line was a young girl about nine years old. She asked the President’s son, who was accompanying him, “May I have President McKay’s autograph?” The son, who thought his father was too tired, began to dissuade her. But President McKay, overhearing the conversation, turned to her and asked jokingly, “Do you think I can write plainly enough so you can read it?” The girl wasn’t sure whether he was in earnest, and she became flustered. At that moment, an aide interrupted with a pressing question, and several minutes of conversation ensued. When the President turned back to speak again to the girl, she had disappeared.
“I have never seen father more upset,” said his son. “Please find that girl in the blue dress,” President McKay directed. “I’m sure she has the impression that I didn’t want to sign her book. She misinterpreted my remarks. You must find her.” Before long, branch presidents and mission presidents were looking for a little girl in blue. But the search was in vain. Finally, a missionary thought he knew who the girl was. He telephoned the President later that night and then received these instructions: “Tell the girl that I am sorry I missed her, and that I have asked the branch president to send her book to me by mail to Salt Lake City; I will sign my autograph and mail it directly back to her.” And he did!

Young Men and their advisers from the Sacramento Seventh Ward, Sacramento California Cordova Stake, undertook a five-day, 206-mile bike trip from Lake Tahoe to Yosemite. The trip would take them over six mountain passes.
Eleven riders and two support drivers with vehicles for equipment, food, and room to carry injured or tired riders started on the trip. As they reached the top of each pass with burning lungs and muscles, they exulted in the beauty of the summits and the thoughts of a long downhill run.
Pedaling into Yosemite on the valley floor was one of the more memorable experiences for the group. Pride in their accomplishment combined with the knowledge that, with preparation and determination, they had an experience that will remain with them the rest of their lives.

Michael J. Williams of the Reading Pennsylvania Ward delivers more than newspapers every morning. Recently, he delivered a life.
One day, while running his normal paper route, Michael noticed an older woman hadn’t retrieved her paper the day before. He knocked on her door to see if she was all right, and when there was no response, he called the police. They found the woman had fallen down her stairs, had a concussion, and had been lying there all day. “If the boy hadn’t said something, I don’t think she would be alive today,” said a neighbor.
Michael is also willing to go the extra mile in early-morning seminary, where he works diligently on scripture-mastery memorization. He is a fine example of a young man who sincerely tries to do his best.

I was at my baseball coach’s house for a party, and I went into the basement with some other kids. They were watching a cartoon that I knew my mom didn’t want me to watch. I watched it for a minute, and it looked like it wasn’t bad. But I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to watch it, so I went outside to play. Later, one of the other moms went to the basement and made the other kids turn off the TV because the cartoon was talking about bad things. On the way home, my mom said she was proud of me. I felt good that I chose the right and was obedient to my mom.

When I was a young boy, during the aftermath of World War II, Germany was broken and in ruins. Many people were hungry, sick, and dying. I remember well the humanitarian shipments of food and clothing that came from the Church in Salt Lake City. To this day, I can still remember the smell of the clothing, and I can still taste the sweetness of the canned peaches.
There were some who joined the Church because of the goods they received at that time. Some members looked down on these new converts. They even called them an offensive name: Büchsen Mormonen, or “Canned-Food Mormons.” They resented these new members because they believed that once their temporal needs had been met, they would fall away.
While some did leave, many stayed—they came to church, tasted the sweetness of the gospel, and felt the tender embrace of caring brothers and sisters. They discovered “home.” And now, three and four generations later, many families trace their Church membership back to these converts.

Each of us must courageously and firmly stand up for what we are and what we believe. When President Joseph F. Smith was a young man, he was faced with this predicament:
“One morning when he and several other missionaries were returning to Salt Lake City, a group of rough Mormon-haters rode up on horses, firing their guns and cursing.
“The leader jumped off his horse and shouted, ‘We will kill anyone who is a Mormon!’ The other missionaries had fled into the woods, but Joseph F. bravely stood his ground. The man shoved a gun in Joseph F.’s face and asked, ‘Are you a Mormon?’
“Joseph F. stood tall and said, ‘Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!’
“The man was surprised at his reply. He put the gun away, shook Joseph’s hand, and said, ‘Well, you are the pleasantest man I ever met! I’m glad to see a fellow stand up for his convictions.’ He jumped back on his horse and rode off with his companions” (Friend, Aug. 1995, p. 43).

Now I would like to tell you of a little experience I had in the mission field that illustrates what I think the Lord meant when he indicated that not only would the Prophet bring forth His word, but he would bring men to a conviction of His word that had already gone forth among them.

When I was in Holland, I was invited to talk to a Bible class of businessmen. We met in the home of a prominent furniture dealer. There were about twenty men; each had his Bible. The only woman there was the daughter of the man of the house. They gave me an hour and a half to discuss universal salvation, which includes our work for the dead, preaching in the spirit world, and baptism of the living for the dead. I just gave them chapter and verse and let them read the passages in their own Bibles. Then when I was through, I closed my Bible and waited for comments.

The first comment came from the daughter of the man of the house. She said: “Father, I just can’t understand it. I have never attended one of these Bible classes in my life that you haven’t had the last word to say on everything. And tonight you haven’t said a word.”

The man shook his head and said: “My daughter, there isn’t anything to say. This man has been teaching us things we have never heard of, and he has been teaching them to us out of our own Bibles.”

I could tell you many more stories like that!