Gospel Story Finder

That help came to my father years ago when his work took him to Australia. He was alone on a Sunday, and he wanted to take the sacrament. He could find no information about Latter-day Saint meetings. So he started walking. He prayed at each intersection to know which way to turn. After walking and making turns for an hour, he stopped to pray again. He felt an impression to turn down a particular street. Soon he began to hear singing coming from the ground floor of an apartment building close by. He looked in at the window and saw a few people seated near a table covered with a white cloth and sacrament trays.

Now, that may not seem like much to you, but it was something wonderful to him. He knew the promise of the sacrament prayer had been fulfilled: “Always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them” (D&C 20:77).

During World War II, in the early part of 1944, an experience involving the priesthood took place as United States marines were taking Kwajalein Atoll, part of the Marshall Islands and located in the Pacific Ocean about midway between Australia and Hawaii. What took place in this regard was related by a correspondent—not a member of the Church—who worked for a newspaper in Hawaii. In the 1944 newspaper article he wrote following the experience, he explained that he and other correspondents were in the second wave behind the marines at Kwajalein Atoll. As they advanced, they noticed a young marine floating facedown in the water, obviously badly wounded. The shallow water around him was red with his blood. And then they noticed another marine moving toward his wounded comrade. The second marine was also wounded, with his left arm hanging helplessly by his side. He lifted up the head of the one who was floating in the water in order to keep him from drowning. In a panicky voice he called for help. The correspondents looked again at the boy he was supporting and called back, “Son, there is nothing we can do for this boy.”

“Then,” wrote the correspondent, “I saw something that I had never seen before.” This boy, badly wounded himself, made his way to the shore with the seemingly lifeless body of his fellow marine. He “put the head of his companion on his knee. … What a picture that was—these two mortally wounded boys—both … clean, wonderful-looking young men, even in their distressing situation. And the one boy bowed his head over the other and said, ‘I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood, to remain alive until I can get medical help.’” The correspondent concluded his article: “The three of us [the two marines and I] are here in the hospital. The doctors don’t know [how they made it alive], but I know.”11

When the doors to the van were opened, the noise level inside rose considerably. The yapping puppies competed for attention from the two young boys who climbed inside. One boy poked his fingers through the wire mesh of a cage and let the puppy inside lick them, but his eyes kept searching the cages trying to read the name tags on the dogs’ collars.
“Here she is,” he said to his brother behind him. They both turned their attention to a butterball golden retriever puppy.
“Hi, Blanche.” The puppy squirmed with excitement, standing on hind legs with front paws against the side of the cage.
Luke Fausett, 12, bent down to get a better look at the puppy. Scott Fausett, 15, the older of the two brothers, leaned over to see the pup, the fourth one his family would raise as a guide dog, and said, “Her name starts with a B. All the dogs whose names start with B are from the same litter.”
Blanche didn’t care what her name meant, but Luke and Scott knew that she would soon learn to respond to it when she was called. They hoped that she would learn all they could teach her and be smart and goodtempered enough to be accepted into training as a guide dog.
Scott Fausett from Bluebell, Utah, is the president of Utah State Guide Dogs, a 4-H program where young members raise puppies for 12 months in preparation for the dogs’ training as guide dogs. The 12-week-old puppies are provided by a nonprofit organization called Guide Dogs for the Blind, Inc. The young people love the puppies and care for them, and it is because of this love that the dogs are prepared to love and serve as eyes for a blind person.
“It makes me feel good to do this for some person who isn’t as fortunate as we are,” says Scott.
Scott learned about raising guide dogs at an assembly at school. “The speaker brought three dogs to give a demonstration. I thought it would be neat to raise one. I went home and asked Mom and Dad, and they said they would have to talk about it. Mom went to a guide dog meeting one day, and they decided to let me try it.”
Scott’s mother, Kay, had some reservations. “I was leery at first because it is such a commitment. The dog has to be in the house and sleep right beside the child’s bed at night. But we’ve loved the experience. We take the dog everywhere, to visit Grandma, to family reunions, to the grocery store, or whenever we come to town.”
It is an important part of the dog’s training to become used to lots of different people, situations, noise, and traffic. And in a large, happy family like the Fausett’s, the dogs get used to lots of attention and lots of distractions.
When Scott and Luke raise a puppy, they spend several hours each day feeding and grooming it and teaching it to obey commands. With both boys involved, they trade off responsibilities each week. “We have to teach the puppy its name, and we have to housebreak it,” says Scott. “When the puppy comes to us, it has never had a collar on. We teach it basic obedience like sit, stay, down, heel, come, and fetch. We socialize it and get it used to being with people all the time.
“Then when it is about ten months old, it has to pass a test and be completely housebroken before we take it to school or church or stores,” Scott explains. “When we take the dogs into stores or restaurants, we get permission from the owners first; then we have the dogs wear a jacket that identifies them as guide dogs in training.”
Scott usually takes the dog he is raising to school several times, and regularly takes it to stores. The dog is extremely well behaved and simply lies down beside Scott’s desk during class and stays close to Scott on a leash while in a store.
It’s not always easy to take the dog places when other people don’t understand that it is being trained. “It’s hard,” Scott says. “People laugh at you sometimes. ‘You have a dog in school!’ Some think it’s neat, but the jokers think it’s funny to pull the dog’s tail.” Scott gives his dogs lots of different experiences so the dogs are prepared to handle these types of situations while working as guides.
After a little more than a year, when the dog is approaching 18 months old, the puppy raisers return the dogs to Guide Dogs for the Blind for an additional six months of training. This is both a sad and hopeful time. The dog has become a member of the family, and the puppy raisers are sorry to see it leave home. But now the dogs are ready to be trained for their life’s work. And the family members hope that their dog will pass with flying colors. Only 50 percent of the puppies raised are found suitable to become guide dogs.
The dogs are checked to see that they aren’t too small or too large to be guide dogs. They are checked to see how they react to loud noises and the distractions of children and traffic. And they are checked to be sure they are not too aggressive or too shy.
If a dog is rejected from guide dog training, the family who raised it is allowed first choice to keep it. If the family does not choose to keep the dog, a waiting list is kept by the organization of families hoping for a dog, since dogs rejected from the guide dog program make such nice, well-trained family pets.
Gauntlet, a dog Scott and Luke raised, is presently going through guide dog training. Scott and Luke hope they don’t hear anything from the training center for a while; since a phone call now would only mean there was a problem with his training. Tiger, another dog that Scott raised, was rejected because of physical problems with his front legs. Scott was at the training center in California when he found out that Tiger would not be accepted as a guide dog. “That was a sad time when Tiger didn’t make it,” says Scott. “I had to call the family and tell them.”
Jenny, a golden Lab, the first dog Scott raised, was accepted as a guide dog, has completed her training, and has been matched to a blind owner, Gene. Scott attended Jenny’s graduation from the training center and met Gene. Since then, Scott and Gene have become good friends, occasionally visiting in person but most often communicating by mail or over the telephone.
Getting to know the man who has been directly helped by the family’s efforts in raising a puppy has encouraged Scott and his family to continue raising guide dogs. “One thing that has helped is Gene’s being in touch with Scott and knowing the good that we are doing,” says Kay Fausett. “He and Jenny have really become a part of our family. He is really appreciative, and it helps us to think of that when the time comes to return another dog we have grown to love. We keep reminding ourselves how special this dog will become to a blind person.”
Scott has some advice on how people should act when they meet someone with a guide dog. “If the guide dog is in harness, people shouldn’t bother the dog. It is working. The dogs are very protective of their owners, so you shouldn’t pet the dog unless you ask the owner first. However, most people like to talk about their dogs and are usually pleased to let people pet them.”
Being involved in raising guide dogs has had some profound effects on Scott. Kit Stevens, a past Utah State Guide Dog Chairman, says, “Scott is a tremendous kid. He loves guide dogs, and he is totally devoted. He is inventive, creating new programs. He is organized and does many things on his own.”
Scott’s mother has noticed a change too. “He’s become more independent, more confident, more able to speak to groups. He was quite shy, but now he can go anywhere and speak to anyone and feel comfortable.” His dad, Lewis, adds teasingly, “Sometimes I get perturbed because he is so involved. He’s very dedicated.”
Scott was asked to give a talk in his sacrament meeting in the Bluebell Ward, Altamont Utah Stake. He chose to talk about his involvement in raising guide dogs. He read the scripture, “For behold, it is not meet that I should command in all things; … Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness” (D&C 58:26–27). Scott explained that raising puppies to be guide dogs is a way he can help others. It’s a good cause that takes lots of time and daily devotion. Scott explains, “Kennel dogs won’t make it as guide dogs because the puppies have to be raised with love. We don’t really have to worry about teaching them, but our responsibility is to love and care for them.”
Blanche is playing with her leash and begging to be petted as Scott sits talking about guide dogs. He remembers Jenny, the first puppy he raised. “Gene wrote to me,” says Scott absentmindedly scratching Blanche behind one floppy ear. “He wrote that now he feels secure because of Jenny. He called me on the day he had had Jenny for one year to thank me for raising her and tell me how much he loves her. I like knowing that something I’ve done has helped someone who needs it.”

Toby opened the apartment door and stepped inside quietly. Carefully he folded his collapsible snow shovel and propped it against the wall so that it could drip on the throw rug. Then he knelt to remove his boots. As he unzipped them, his grandpa lifted his head from the pillow on the sofa bed and smiled sleepily.
“Done with your papers already, Son? It’s not even light out yet.”
Toby hung his things on the coatrack. “It’s almost seven o’clock, Gramps. Mom left for the restaurant an hour ago.”
“It must be going to snow some, then,” Grandpa mumbled. “It still seems dark.”
“You’re right, the snow is already flurrying again,” Toby replied as he went into the kitchen. “I’ll make us some oatmeal.”
It wasn’t long until Toby set a steaming bowl of oatmeal on the bedside table; then he propped another pillow behind Grandpa’s head.
“I thought that your mother was supposed to be off today.”
“She was,” Toby replied, “but she’s filling in for Martha.” He moved a footstool closer to the sofa. “Mom’ll be home by eleven, Gramps. Will you be OK till then?”
“Just leave me a book and the remote control for the TV,” Grandpa replied, “and I’ll be fine.”
Toby scooped up a spoonful of warm oatmeal, then aimed it at Grandpa’s mouth.
“Going down to the Center this morning?”
Toby nodded. “Miss Wiggins said that they’re sending someone out from the Village Observer to take pictures and do a story on our gymnastics group.”
Grandpa’s eyes sparkled. “So you’ll have your picture in the paper! Well, that’s something—a celebrity!”
Toby grinned. “I’m no celebrity, Gramps. Just part of the gang.”
Grandpa was dozing when Toby left. As he reached the second floor landing of their apartment building, Mrs. Brindle opened her door. “Would you mind, Toby?” she asked hopefully.
Toby shrugged and took the bag of garbage that she held out to him. “Nope. Do you need anything from the store while I’m out?” he asked.
“Not today, Toby,” she said. “But thanks for asking … and for taking down my garbage.”
“No trouble,” Toby said as he hurried down the stairs.
When Toby reached the Center, he knew that he was the first one there, because the snow hadn’t been broken by anyone’s footprints. He unfolded his snow shovel and began clearing a path. Shovelful by shovelful he worked alone, until a little gray station wagon chugged up and parked in the empty parking lot behind the old building.
Miss Wiggins jumped out and came toward Toby with a cheerful grin, a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck. “You’re always doing something, aren’t you, Toby?” she said as she put an arm around his shoulders and swept him along with her to the door. “You must be getting wet and tired! How long have you been here?”
“Not long,” Toby replied.
Miss Wiggins jangled her keys, searching for the right one. “Well, I can see that you’ve been here long enough to shovel a lot of snow. Where did you get that handy little folding shovel?”
Toby grinned proudly. “Gramps gave it to me for Christmas.”
She unlocked the door and swung it open. “That’s a really neat gift. Brrr,” she added as they stepped inside the huge empty room. “It’s colder in here than outside!”
“I’ll turn up the thermostat,” Toby offered.
She grinned and pointed at a blob of oatmeal on his sweatshirt. “I see you fed your grandfather oatmeal this morning.”
Toby looked down, then tried to wipe it off. “Sorry,” he mumbled self-consciously.
“Don’t be,” she said happily. “Helping others is always visible in one way or another, and helping others seems to be a habit with you.” She blew into her cupped hands and shivered.
“Wait a minute, and I’ll help you get the mats down,” Toby called as he hurried to the thermostat on the wall.
The other gymnasts began to arrive, and soon everyone was busy working out on the balance beams, the mats, the horses, or the overhead rings. When Miss Wiggins called for a break, they all sat around a long wooden table, eating cookies and drinking juice. They talked excitedly about what they’d do for the newspaper reporter.
“I thought that we could make a pyramid,” Miss Wiggins suggested. “That would be an impressive shot, don’t you think? And that way everyone could be in the same picture.”
“I should be on top,” Nancy Matthews said. “That’s an important position, don’t you think so, Miss Wiggins?”
“Well, you are one of the lightest,” she agreed.
“Well!” Brian Cramer snapped. “That’s not the most important position! If Calvin, Marty, Toby, and I didn’t hold everyone up, there wouldn’t be a top. We’re the most important because we’re the strongest and we hold everyone else up!”
“Hey, wait a minute!” Carol and Jan chorused. “If it weren’t for us—”
Miss Wiggins laughed and waved her arms. “Wait a minute, all of you! What’s the sudden interest in who’s the most important? In a pyramid, everyone’s important! It takes a team effort to make a pyramid. You can’t have a top without a base and a middle, so quit arguing.” Miss Wiggins shook her head and added, “The city started this program as a learning experience in cooperation. But now I’m not sure that you know what the word means!”
Carol frowned, then screwed her mouth up at one end. “It means working together,” she said.
“That’s right,” Miss Wiggins replied. “It doesn’t mean fighting over who comes first. In Heavenly Father’s eyes, the one who puts everyone else ahead of himself is first! So if you’re done with your snacks, let’s get back to work!”
The kids tossed their empty cartons toward the trash can. A lot of them missed the target, and the cartons landed on the floor. Toby dropped his juice container into the can, then deposited those that had missed the can as well. The others were already busy at the mats, so they didn’t even notice, but Miss Wiggins did. As Toby hurried to join the others, Miss Wiggins watched him coming and met him with a smile.
As he neared her, she reached out and rumpled his hair gently. “You’re a good kid, Toby,” she said quietly.
“Thanks, Miss Wiggins,” Toby said.

In our family, everyone is busy. Sometimes we don’t take time to listen carefully to each other or to practice kindness or politeness. So in preparation for an upcoming general conference, we prayed to know how we could grow closer as a family.
Elder Robert D. Hales’s talk, “Our Duty to God: The Mission of Parents and Leaders to the Rising Generation” (see Liahona and Ensign, May 2010, 95), answered our prayers and our questions.
I was especially touched by the story about Elder Hales’s grandson asking, “Grandpa! Are you in there?” Elder Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained, “Being there means understanding the hearts of our youth and connecting with them. And connecting with them means not just conversing with them but doing things with them too.”
We’ve worked to improve our interaction with each other. At dinner, we talk about the day. We talk about challenges we’re facing and how the things we’re learning from the scriptures help us confront and overcome those challenges.
Making time for these exchanges has taken effort. But as these good habits have become part of family life, I have felt a special love for my family. As I have followed the prophetic counsel I received at conference, answers to other questions have filled my mind, and I have seen ways I can be more like the Savior Jesus Christ. More than ever before, I feel a sense of peace instead of worry.

The hot sun beat down on Bhutto’s shoulders as he crossed a dry riverbed. He found his father on the other side, sitting beneath a baobab tree, making a bow to be used for hunting. Without saying a word, Bhutto knelt by his father’s side and watched him work. First his father poured sand over a large leaf. Then he wrapped the leaf around the bow and rubbed it up and down. Slowly the rough wooden surface of the bow became smoother.
“It is a hot day for one so young to be walking about,” said Bhutto’s father.
“I am not so young,” Bhutto quickly answered. “I am almost twelve years old.”
“Ah.” His father smiled. “So you are. But why have you come looking for me, Bhutto?”
Bhutto took a deep breath and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I have come to ask you if I may begin hunting alone.”
Bhutto’s father stopped working and looked at Bhutto. “You are a good hunter. You have worked hard to learn how to hunt. Now you must learn when to hunt.”
“And how will I learn this?”
“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”
Bhutto sat very still and listened to the wind. It howled like a lonely animal at night.
“Here,” said Bhutto’s father, handing him the bow. “I was making this for you.”
Bhutto took the bow from his father and ran his fingers up and down the wood. He turned it over and pulled the string. “Oh, Father, it is a wonderful gift! I shall take very good care of it!”
“And my story? Did you learn anything from it?”
Bhutto was quiet for a long time. He thought about the Mazumbas. He thought about the Great Beasts and how beautiful they must have been. “I have learned to try to choose wisely about when to put an arrow in my bow and to be certain I need what I kill. For every time I take something from the earth, it can never be quite the same again.”
Bhutto’s father looked at him and smiled. “And now,” he said, “you are ready to hunt alone.”

However, during my freshman and sophomore years of high school, I started hanging out with the wrong crowd. My new friends and I thought it was better to drink and fight instead of going to school, and I failed a lot of my classes. At the end of my sophomore year, the high school principal told me it would be best if I didn’t come back to school.
I called Spencer and told him what had happened. Without missing a beat, he said to come to his high school. He lived in a town about 35 miles away. After talking it over with my mom, I accepted Spencer’s family’s invitation and moved in with them. That turned out great, because I was able to make up all the classes I had failed and graduate on time. And we were able to continue doing rodeo!

When I was baptized, I was very excited to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. At the same time, I remember being extremely anxious about joining a church where I didn’t know anyone besides the missionaries who had taken their time to teach me about the restored Church and the Book of Mormon. I was living in Austria at the time. I got to know a few members in the Church but at that time I had not really made strong connections with anyone. My first Sunday as a new convert was truly blessed as the young missionary who had convinced to come to church sat by my side translating what was being said as my German was still poor. The sacrament meeting left me with so much peace in my heart as I felt an understanding of the message of the day. I was introduced to Sister Toni who smiled and sat next to me during Sunday School and Relief Society meetings.
After church she invited me to her home for lunch and I met with the rest of her family. This family became my first friends in the church, they always picked me up for church activities. Through them I began to know more and more about the gospel and every Sunday I looked forward to going to church. Other Church members were equally friendly.

Our dad is a police officer. A couple of years ago when we lived in Australia, Dad was working at a big convention. Important people from all over the world were coming. There were lots of protesters, and Dad’s job was to protect the people attending the convention. It lasted five days, and it was on the television news all the time because the protesters were angry and causing problems.
Dad worked long hours and was hardly ever home during that time. We watched television as much as possible to find out what was going on. One morning, Mum turned on the TV, and Dad was on the news! The protesters were getting out of control, and the police officers were having a difficult time protecting the people at the meeting. Mum turned off the TV, and we knelt down and said a prayer. We asked Heavenly Father to protect our dad.
When Dad got home that night, he was very tired. We told him we had prayed for him that morning that he would be protected. Dad smiled. He told us that he had been on the front line facing the protesters when the sergeant told him to leave the line and go cover a different area. After he left, several police officers were injured and had to be taken to the hospital. The sergeant had made him leave the front line shortly after we had finished our prayer.
We are children of God. We can pray to Heavenly Father anytime, anywhere. We know that He hears and answers our prayers.Jessica and Jaime Zurzolo, ages 11 and 6, Weippe, Idaho

At the passing of my wife's father, we all experienced some sweet moments of deep reverence and quiet feelings of respect. Those feelings of reverence were most deeply felt for me during the time that we had the privilege of dressing his body in sacred apparel. I had never seen our sons more solemn, quiet and reverent. The Spirit settled into that room in a powerful and never-to-be-forgotten experience. We were each affected in our hearts and will never be the same.

Thanks to my dear wife, Ruth, I can say that our home has been a place where we have sought to honor the spirit of holiness to the Lord. We did not always succeed. Of course not. But we tried. When I was overwhelmed as a young father with the responsibility of providing temporally for my family, taking care of my Church callings and many other civic duties, Ruth would lovingly and gently bring me back to my parental responsibility in our home.
For example, she would remind me when it was time for home evening and then tenderly suggest what we might appropriately study in our home evenings. She would also help me keep track of important family events such as birthdays and activities of the children when they needed my time and support. She still does that important and appreciated service. If we really want our homes to be places of holiness, we will try harder to do those things that are conducive to the Spirit of the Lord.

A short time before his 24th birthday, President Heber J. Grant accepted a call from President John Taylor to preside over the Tooele Stake. He said the appointment came as a great surprise to him, and he had many feelings of inadequacy, particularly in the area of public speaking. About his first speaking assignment, he said:

I remember preaching and telling everything I could think of, and some of it over twice, and [I] ran out of ideas in seven minutes and a half by the watch. . . .
The next Sunday I did not do any better. I ran out of ideas in six or seven minutes. The next Sunday I did the same.

This continued. There are no accounts to indicate whether the Saints in Tooele were really that disappointed, but obviously President Grant felt great distress. Then, in the little town of Vernon, he later recounted:

I got up to make my little speech of five, six or seven minutes, and I talked for forty-five minutes, with as much freedom and as much of the Spirit of the Lord as I have ever enjoyed in preaching the gospel, during the forty years that have passed since then. I could not restrain the tears of gratitude which I shed that night, as I knelt down and thanked God for the rich outpouring of his Holy Spirit.

Heber J. Grant’s story, however, does not end there; you need to hear about the next Sunday. He explained:

I went to Grantsville, the largest ward in the Tooele stake of Zion, and I approached the Lord with much the same attitude as Oliver Cowdery when he told the Lord, “I want to translate.” . . . But, failing, he was later told, he did not study it out, and he did not pray about it, and he did not do his share. I told the Lord I would like to talk again to the Saints [as I had done in Vernon]. I got up and talked for five minutes, and I sweat as freely, I believe, as if I had been dipped in a creek, and I ran out of ideas completely. I made as complete a “fizzle,” so to speak, of my talk, as a mortal could make. [Heber J. Grant, “Significant Counsel to the Young People of the Church,” Improvement Era, August 1921, 870–71; see also Preston Nibley, The Presidents of the Church (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1974), 224–26]

President Grant later wrote of his humble prayers that followed that meeting. He wrote:

I asked God to forgive me for not remembering that men can not preach the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ with power, with force, and with inspiration only as they are blessed with power which comes from God. [Grant, “Significant Counsel,” 871–72; see also Nibley, Presidents, 226]

In another ward the bishop asked a semi-active priest to tutor a deacon having problems in school. After balking at the request, the priest found the young boy began to follow his example of attending Church. They decided to go to MIA together. When the deacon asked if he should go on a mission, the priest said yes, and his new friend replied, “When are you going?”
“Well, what could I say? I couldn’t let him down. So here I am an elder and on my way to serve the Lord for two years in Norway. I know this is what I must do and want to do with my life right now. School can wait.”

Julia wiped her brow. Then she picked up her shovel and started digging. Right now, the ground around her was a patch of dirt. But soon it would become a beautiful garden.
Times were hard for Black people in South Africa. Laws there kept Blacks and Whites separate. Many Black people had been forced to leave their homes and live in certain areas away from White people, and they couldn’t vote. There had been violence in the township where Julia lived, and the schools were closed because of it. Sometimes it was dangerous to be outside.
But that didn’t stop Julia. She wanted to do something to bring goodness to her community. That’s why she was starting a garden.
Some children saw Julia working. “Can we help?” they asked.
“Of course,” said Julia. She handed them each a shovel. She showed them how to loosen the soil and dig up weeds.
“Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed of love, and see what fruits it can give us,” she said. “Love comes only by forgiving others.”
Weeks passed, and more plants grew. Other people came to work in the garden. They pulled tall weeds. They planted more seeds. They watered the plants. It made Julia happy to see so many people helping.
One day Julia met two young men. Julia was surprised because White people rarely came to her neighborhood. They said they were missionaries. She invited them to share a message in her home.
When Julia’s son heard they were coming, he was shocked. “Why did you invite them?” he said. “They are White. It’s not safe.”
But Julia trusted the missionaries. “These men are different,” Julia said. “They are preaching peace.”
When the missionaries came, Julia welcomed them in. One of them noticed a photo on the mantle. It was from Julia’s wedding.
“Who is that?” the missionary asked, pointing to the photo.
“My husband, John.” Julia looked down. “He died in a car crash.”
The missionary nodded. “We believe families can be together forever, even after they die.”
A feeling of peace washed over Julia. She felt happy to learn about God’s plan and kept meeting with the missionaries. Love for the gospel grew in Julia’s heart, just like the plants in her garden. Soon she decided to be baptized.
At church, Julia met lots of new people. Some were Black. Some were White. But they all served and learned together.
Julia showed the children at church how to help in her garden. “We must be soft in our hearts, like this soil,” she said. “We must make a place for the gospel within us. We must make a place for love.”
Thirteen years after Julia’s baptism, the laws separating Black people and White people in South Africa ended.
There are almost 70,000 members of the Church in South Africa today.
South Africa has 11 official languages.
Julia helped start Women for Peace, a group to promote unity and peace in South Africa.
She was one of the first temple workers in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple.
Julia was a teacher. She taught children to read when they worked in her garden.

I like scary movies. When a certain scary movie came out, I was really sad because it was the kind of movie that the prophet had said not to watch. I had promised myself and Heavenly Father that I would follow the prophet and not watch such movies. Then I had a chance to watch it. I remembered my promise and didn’t watch it, though it was hard not to. But it was worth it. I know that I will get many blessings for not watching that kind of movie. I’m choosing while I’m young to not watch any bad movies, and so it won’t be hard for me when I am older. It makes me feel good inside when I make right choices.

A package of sponges plopped onto the floor as Janis dug deeper into the closet. Then an old boot tumbled out. “Aha!” she said, grabbing at something, “here’s the broom!” But when she brought it out into the light, Janis saw that it was only half a broom. The straw part was missing. “Mom! Where’s the rest of the broom? I can’t be a witch without a broom!”
“You mean that old broom? I let your brother have it.”
Janis frowned. Why does he want it? she wondered.
“What am I going to do?” she moaned, walking into the kitchen. She sank into a chair and cupped her chin in her hands.
“Mom!” came a shout. “Where’s the black crepe pap—”
Janis whirled as her twin brother skidded to a stop in mid-sentence.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” he said.
“But I know that you need black crepe paper,” she declared smugly. She’d used most of the black paper for her cape and hat. The remaining pieces were tucked under her bed.
“I don’t need it. Forget it!” Jack said irritably, and he turned and left the room.
“All this secrecy!” Mom said as she rinsed some dishes.
“There’s a prize for the best costume,” Janis explained. “And I don’t want anyone to know what I’m doing. But I still need a whole broom. Don’t we have another one?”
“That is the other one. I can’t let you take the good one, Janis, because I need it when I clean. How about a mop?”
“Mom! Witches never ride mops!”
“It was just a suggestion,” Mom said.
Janis went back to the closet and took the sorrowful-looking broom into her room. She was placing it in the corner when she heard footsteps. “Jack! No fair sneaking around.”
“I’m looking for something, not sneaking.”
“For black crepe paper?” she teased.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
It was true, she would like to know. But if she found out about Jack’s costume, it would only be fair that he knew about hers. And he won’t, she decided, not until Halloween.
During the next few days Janis worked on her costume. She made long string hair by gluing strands of Mom’s knitting yarn onto her witch’s hat. And she painted pieces of cutout cardboard silver and used them as buckles for her black shoes.
Trying on her costume, she thought, I look just like a witch—except for the broomstick! She glanced sadly at her strawless broom.
“I wish I could think of something to use for a broom,” she said, showing her costume to her mother.
“I like your costume, dear,” Mom said. “You managed all the other parts of the outfit. Maybe you can still figure out a way to get a proper broom.”
Janis’s dark eyes stared at the artificial flower centerpiece her mother was arranging. It looks real if I don’t look very close. It even has fake weeds that remind me of—“Mom! That’s it. Your flowers!” she shouted.
“Flowers?” Mom asked. “A bouquet for a witch?”
“No, for my broomstick.”
With Mom’s help Janis tied some skinny yellow weeds onto the bottom of the broom handle with a piece of twine. Not bad, she thought when they were through, but I still wonder what Jack used the straw from the broom for.
The night of the Halloween party she found out. She was dressed and waiting for Jack to come out of his room when he walked down the hallway. He had on patched overalls and Mom’s funny fishing cap. A bird was perched on his scarecrow shoulder.
“A navy blue crow?” Janis asked, pointing to the strange-looking bird.
“You used all the black crepe paper, Witch Janis,” Jack said, tapping Janis’s tall hat.
Her gaze fell to the cuffs of his flannel shirt. Bits of yellow straw! “So that’s what happened to the broom!” she declared.
“What’s that stuff on the bottom of your broom?” he asked.
Janis told him about the dried flowers.
“I could’ve used them,” Jack said. “Then you would’ve had a regular broom.”
“And I hid the leftover crepe paper under my bed. There was enough to make a black crow,” Janis admitted.
“But you wanted your costumes to be big secrets,” Mom reminded them.
“Next year let’s tell each other about our costumes. Then we can help each other,” suggested Jack.
Janis looked at her brother and smiled. Even though the Halloween secrets had been fun, she was sure it would be more fun to plan their costumes together. “I think that’s a great idea,” she agreed.

I started preparing to be a professional ball player at the age of three, and I never took my mind off it. And that was one of my problems. I didn’t think that public school or church had anything to do with becoming a ball player, and because of my poor vision in terms of values, I had to learn a very hard lesson. Everything I did from age three until I was 18 and signed that first professional ball contract was oriented toward the ball field. I ate, slept, and drank baseball. That’s all I could think of, but it was necessary in terms of my preparation. My only problem was I got overbalanced in it. I collected more Wheaties box tops than you can ever imagine, because I thought there was some correlation between eating Wheaties and being a better ball player.
For 12 years of public education I never took a book home to study. I’m not proud of it. I’m sorry, and I’ve tried to repent, and I’m spending the rest of my life paying the price of the void that I created by that silly observation of a few years ago, thinking as I used to in algebra and English, “Of what value is this to me if I become a great pitcher? I can throw a curve ball just as well without algebra and English as I can with it.” I used to go home and say, “Yep, I’m all prepared for life. I can throw as hard as anybody and run just as fast and hit just as far. So don’t bother me.” I’ve lived to see the fallacy of that one.
When it came time to go to church on Sunday, I took it as a personal affront to me, because how could church help me be a better ball player?
That’s the way my mind worked. I’m not saying that becoming a great ball player or lawyer or doctor isn’t important. It is; it’s necessary for temporal salvation, but it isn’t the most important thing that we’re sent to earth to do. It’s the eternal things that really count, and it’s a sharp, intelligent person who can catch this vision early and do something about it.
At the age of three I had not calculated that World War II would be on the scene. I hadn’t put that in my program. I didn’t know about it, and little did I know that Uncle Sam would tap me on the shoulder when my 18th birthday came and say, “Come on, buddy, follow me. That’s what you’re going to do for the next three years.”
Three months before I had signed my first ball contract. Do you know what that means? Here I planned for 15 years to be what I wanted to be. I had eight major league scouts tracking me down; I was finally graduated from high school and arrived at age 18 when I was permitted by my parents to sign that contract and to put my name on the dotted line with what was then a pretty good bonus. You know what kind of thrill that is for a teenager? I wish I had the ability to tell you. And then I reported to that first team, and I stepped into that dugout with a new number. You know what a thrill that is? Then to get a letter two or three months later that says, “Forget that, brother, and follow me. We have other plans for you.” That’s what I hadn’t counted on. That was the uncertain part of my life that I had never planned for; there are those things in the lives of us all.

At the finish line Paula Hurtado, 14, helped her special friend, Jamie, to hold the crepe paper ribbon across the road. Jamie has cerebral palsy, is retarded, and has always been confined to a wheelchair. She was unable to enter any of the races, but cheered her brother on to a gold medal.
“She is really special,” said Paula. “I think she is having a lot of fun. I brought her cookies last week. I was kind of scared, but this is fun,” she added.

For example, on Christmas morning in 1925, three men walked down to the river’s edge in a park in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Most of the city was probably still sleeping late on a holiday. But these men had left their families behind and spent 21 days on a steam ship to get here. Elder Melvin J. Ballard, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, had been sent by President Heber J. Grant to dedicate the entire continent of South America for the preaching of the gospel.
So while the rest of the city still slept, Elder Ballard entered a willow grove with Elder Rulon S. Wells and Elder Rey L. Pratt. They sang hymns and read from the Book of Mormon. Then Elder Ballard offered a prayer and used his apostolic authority to “unlock and open the door for the preaching of the gospel in all these South American nations.” From that time on, like a stone tossed into a pond, the ripples of the gospel message spread outward across a continent.
Since Elder Ballard’s visit to Buenos Aires, Church membership in South America has grown from less than a dozen to over a million. Tens of thousands more are joining every year. There are an increasing number of LDS chapels, and temples have begun to dot the land.
That’s why seminary graduation time in Buenos Aires isn’t just another weekend. When Elder Ballard offered his powerful prayer in that willow grove nearly 70 years ago, he asked the Lord to “remember in mercy … the youth of thy Church who are to bear the responsibilities of the future, that they may keep themselves clean … and come to their glorious destiny.” For the LDS youth in Argentina, seminary has been one of the most direct answers to that prayer.

The decision to be a helping friend might seem to some of you a little elementary. For me, that one early decision about making friends became highly relevant throughout my entire life, including during a drizzly evening on the other side of the world about forty years after my first day at BYU. I was serving in Sydney, Australia when Pope John Paul II came to town. I was invited to join religious leaders to welcome him. We were roped off from the hundreds of thousands who had gathered and were provided seats near the stand. The Pope was late and my colleagues of other faiths in their impressive robes and regalia were just sitting around and waiting. It was most natural for me to take initiative, shake hands with row after row of these high ranking religious officials, introduce myself, and thank them for coming.
As I was finishing with the last row of dignitaries, a man who had been watching me came down off the stand and asked who I was. I learned that he was a senior Catholic Cardinal, the third ranking man in the entire Roman Catholic Church worldwide. He asked if we could talk more and invited me to Rome.
Our friendship led to several trips to the Vatican and many hours of candid and enlightening conversation. This Cardinal told me that before my arrival he spoke with every senior officer of their church and that I was their first contact ever with a LDS official. Our association led to friendships with others at the Vatican and around the world, including extended personal involvement with LDS matters by Cardinal Ratzinger, who is now Pope Benedict XVI. We are now known and trusted at the Vatican and have been singled out and given access to the most ancient and precious religious documents found in the Vatican archives.
Can you safely conclude that making friends is a small thing? Please don’t risk it. We seldom know how Heavenly Father will use us as we respond to his subtle directions in our lives.