Gospel Story Finder

On the afternoon of Dec. 11, 2022, three buses pulled in at Konka, the facility rented for FSY—a five-day youth conference held for young people in the Gauteng, South Africa area. The following morning, 530 young men and young women would descend on the facility, but these first three buses carried the 70 faithful young single adult men and women who had accepted the call to be coordinators, assistant coordinators and counselors for FSY; dutifully arriving the night before to set up for the exciting week to come.
Little did these young leaders know what the night would bring.
That evening, the rain arrived. Rain was forecast for each day, but the intensity of the storm took all by surprise. The night sky was almost constantly lit up by lightning. Roars of thunder and a tumultuous downpour went through the night and continued, heavy and strong, as dawn arrived.
Konka is located about two hours north of Johannesburg. To reach the venue, the buses had to travel some distance on dirt roads and cross a river using a low-water bridge before entering the facility.
The morning that the youth were due to arrive, we looked at the river and saw it had swelled to the point that nothing could cross the bridge. The roar of the water flowing over the low water bridge sounded like Victoria Falls. We began praying that the rains would subside soon or there would be no accessing the facility when the youth were to begin arriving at 11 am. Yet the rains continued. That is when the calls of concern began to come in from leaders and parents. “Are you cancelling FSY? You should cancel FSY.” “Should we send the buses in this weather or are you putting things on hold?” “Perhaps you should delay the start of FSY until the water levels drop.”
As we prayed to know what to do, the words of President Russell M. Nelson kept coming to mind. “Seek and expect miracles.”1 Yet as we prayed it seemed the rain was simply becoming more intense. We still had four hours until they were to arrive. Perhaps it would slow down enough by the time they got here that the water level would drop sufficiently, though it was appearing unlikely. “We are not cancelling. Just come. It will work out,” we responded. As we spoke those words in faith, we knew it would take a miracle.
We inspected the bridge to see if it would be possible for the youth to cross it by foot. We observed that most of the bridge was out of the river, but if we were to use it, the youth would still have to cross a portion of the river in at least knee-deep water that was running swiftly for the last 30 meters. We asked the Konka staff to begin setting up ropes across the bridge, emphasizing that we would not take any risks with the youth, many of whom do not swim at all. If it was clear we could cross the river safely, we would go forward with this plan.
The young single adults leapt to their feet volunteering in excitement to be a rescuer for the 2022 FSY and carry our youth across the river. They ran to their dorm rooms and changed into suitable clothing, knowing they were about to get very wet and dirty in the river and mud.
At 10:45 am we walked down to the water. The youth had already begun to arrive. The Konka staff had fixed the ropes to hold while crossing the water and were ready for the assistance of the young single adults. Several leaders grabbed onto the ropes and walked across the river and foot bridge to greet the youth and their parents and leaders as they arrived, to give them confidence and assurance that everything was safe, and we were moving forward.
There was shock on the faces of the youth and leaders as we explained the situation and instructed the youth to remove their shoes and socks and pull up their pant legs as far as they could. An umbrella to protect them from the rain was all most had planned on. Now they were about to cross a river on foot. As they walked down to the footbridge, several slipped, a few even falling in the deep and slippery mud. “Hang on to the rope!” was the yell that echoed for the next three hours as group after group arrived.
The young adult leaders took every suitcase and all the bedding and carried it across the footbridge. Over 500 youth made it across the river, either on the backs of the young single adults or picking their own cautious paths across the river whilst holding onto the safety ropes. A few hours later, the rain began to lessen. We had made it, and the FSY experience could go forward.
Uniformly, the youth expressed thanks that FSY had not been cancelled and we had found a way forward. Several analogies to our river crossing followed during the week, all relating back to the theme trust in the Lord. The young single adults acting as counselors not only carried and guided the youth across a literal river, but then spent the week teaching and strengthening the youth in a way that has had a deep and meaningful impact—teaching them and sharing tools for navigating an increasingly difficult world. Lives have been forever changed.

In my grade school studies we were learning about England. We had presentations about English traditions and culture, so my teacher decided we should have an English tea party. I was the only member of the Church in my class. The teacher said we were going to have real tea. I had a pit in my stomach because the Word of Wisdom has taught me not to drink “hot drinks” interpreted as tea and coffee (see D&C 89:9). When it was time for the tea party, my teacher laid out small cups of tea for each student and asked us to “at least taste a little.” I knew I couldn’t drink the tea. Despite the pressure I felt, I asked the teacher if I could have water instead. I am glad that I followed the Holy Ghost’s reminder to me to stand as a witness of God “at all times and in all things, and in all places” (see Mosiah 18:9), even though it was hard.

One experience our family had with prayer occurred years ago. On December 1, 1991, I wrote in my journal:
Gert Karnitschnig visited here for 1 1/2-2 hours (sic)...The visit was mainly social but he did agree to watch a video [with us] tomorrow, receive a [missionary] discussion on Friday, and attend Church next week. The special part was when [our eight-year- old son] Nathan said, after Gert had gone, 'Well, at least our prayers got answered.'

We had been trying and praying for weeks to have someone ready to hear the missionary lessons by that day, December 1. During the final week leading up to that day, most of the family had lost hope because we still could not think of anyone to invite. Our three-year-old son Seth, however, kept including our plea in every prayer, even the day before. During my morning prayer and quiet time on December 1, Gert's name came to my mind. I phoned him and he agreed to come to our home that same night.

Gert was baptized and confirmed about one month later, on January 5. Later he said that he had been an atheist, but then he heard one of our children pray to bless the food. During that prayer he received an overwhelming manifestation of light and elation and peace. He knew the Lord had touched his heart.

Mondays are currently my favorite day of the week. Around 10 a.m. each Monday morning I get to read the weekly letter from our son serving his mission in Farmington, New Mexico. Later that afternoon I get to read another missionary letter from our son serving in Mesa, Arizona. I love reading their missionary experiences, reading how their testimony of the gospel is growing, and of course seeing their most recent pictures. Our sons express how they are loving their respective areas and more importantly that they are loving the people they have been called to serve. They often write how happy they are as a result of serving the Lord every hour of every day. The feelings I get when I read their letters contribute to my own abundant life experience. It is apparent that their experiences are bringing great blessings to them as well. The weekly letters we receive from our boys and their unique life-changing experiences are duplicated in the missionary e-mails we read from their teammates. Some mention providing many acts of service including giving priesthood blessings. They are all instruments in the Lord's hands, helping individuals come unto Christ, helping individuals become converted and being baptized. Many are involved in helping couples move closer to their goal of attending the temple and being sealed together as a couple and as families.

My wife and I often comment on the letters we read from our boys and their teammates and ask the question "Is this the same young man we knew a few months ago?" We know the answer to this question. The answer is: yes and No. The experience they had on the football team was one they will always remember and cherish but the experiences they are having on their missions have so much more significance experiences they will reflect upon for years to come. These young men are experiencing the blessings that come from achieving their goal of serving a mission and then faithfully serving. They are currently experiencing their own abundant lives and are helping many others do the same. They are experiencing the abundant life that comes from setting goals with eternal significance and focusing on things that matter most.

When I was a little boy, like many of you, my parents arranged for me to have the opportunity to take piano lessons. It was an opportunity I did not wish to have. I felt, in that period of my life, to do so would be a great impingement on my freedom. I did not want to practice. I did not want to take the lessons. And I suppose I was not a very good boy. I fussed about it so much that finally my parents relented, and I did not take piano lessons. I felt liberated. I felt victorious. I felt that I had asserted my agency and my independence.

I did not think a lot more about it until one day many years later when I, as a man, sat in a stake priesthood meeting. On this particular occasion, a woman had been invited to sing a special musical number to the priesthood. She was a lovely lady and had a very beautiful voice. She presented herself in the meeting at the appropriate time. But as she came to the front of the chapel, it was clear that her accompanist had not arrived. She, not becoming frustrated, simply looked around. As she did so, she identified in the very back of the room a man, a faculty member at Ricks College. She said to him, “Chester, would you please come and accompany me?” At the invitation, this great soul rose from his chair and walked to the front. She handed him the piece of music, and he sat at the piano. He accompanied her to seeming perfection and added much to the song she sang.

As I watched that happen, my mind went back to the time of my opportunity to learn to play the piano—the one I did not take. The thought occurred to me, “What if this woman would have said, ‘Bob, will you accompany me?’” I could have only had one response: “I am sorry, but I do not know how to play the piano and, therefore, I have no choice to make and, therefore, I have not freedom in the matter.” My failure to endure the process of creating a choice as it related to playing the piano had left me without capacity and, therefore, in bondage to my own inadequacies. Armed guards could not have denied me any more effectively. In that instance I was free to do nothing.

A small green lizard darted in and out of the crevices in the crumbling old stone pier that jutted out into the Red Sea. The hot, glaring desert sun made its body glisten. The lizard stopped suddenly, and its yellow eyes watched Abu Ibn (son of) Hassan putting his catch of five fish into the net bags that had been slung over the sides of his donkey. He had caught three kanad, a type of mackerel, and two small hamur, which looked like sea bass.
Abu hoped these fish would help his father get more money at the suq (marketplace) in town ten miles across the Saudi Arabian desert.
For a few moments Abu stood beside his donkey and listened to the tinkling sound of small bells coming from the village, a tiny gathering of stone houses for fifty-two fishermen and their families. Every family owned a donkey, and every donkey except Abu’s had a bell on a thong tied around its neck. Abu’s father had a large family to feed. There never was any extra money for a bell. Abu dreamed of the day when his father would sail home with his dhow (boat) stacked high with fish. Then there would be money for a bell—maybe even a brass bell.
When Abu arrived home, his mother and sisters were full of news.
“We have a new fisherman in the village,” his mother told him.
“He owns a camel,” one of his sisters said.
“Yes, he must be rich!” another sister added. “His name is Rathman, and he is building a house. He doesn’t seem to have any family, but his new house will be bigger than any around here. He brought men from the town to help him.”
Abu ran outside and kept running until he came to where the new house was being built. The workmen were already putting up the walls. The floor would be dirt, and the roof would be made of thatched date palm leaves.
“Is-salaam alaykum (Peace be upon you),” Abu greeted one of the workmen.
“Wa-alaykum is salaam (And upon you be peace),” the workman answered.
Abu was impressed with the size of the new house. He was about to step inside when a harsh voice shouted, “Boy, get to where you belong! Don’t bother the workmen!”
Abu turned and met the angry eyes of Rathman. He had a great hooked nose, a thin-lipped mouth, and his legs and arms looked like old, dried sticks. Abu ran for home. His tobe (a long, shirt-like garment) hindered him, so he pulled it above his knees. His red kaffiyeh (headdress) fell off, but he didn’t stop to pick it up.
It was weeks before the excitement caused by the coming of the new fisherman subsided. Rathman’s dhow was the largest at the stone pier. His camel delivered his fish to the suq earlier and fresher than anyone else’s fish. It was learned that he was a friend of the sheikh (leader of the tribe) who lived in the big town.
Unlike the bells on the donkeys, which rang together and sounded like music in the village, the bell on Rathman’s camel was large, and it clanked and clunked when the beast moved. The camel held its head high, as though it was too proud to look at the lowly donkeys. Each time the fish were taken to the market, the camel would race past the donkeys, carrying not only a bigger load of fish but also Rathman on its back. The donkeys would have to plod along, trying to avoid the sandy dust that the camel kicked up. The fishermen walking beside their little animals would have to listen to Rathman’s mocking laughter.
At the pier, Rathman crowded his fishing dhow into the best place. He walked around the village as though he were a sheikh himself.
One evening Abu’s father told his family some bad news. “Rathman has ordered that the bells be taken off all the donkeys.”
“Why?” Abu’s mother asked.
“He said that the sound of our donkey bells keeps him from hearing his camel bell,” Abu’s father explained.
“But, Father, the men are not going to do it, are they?” Abu asked.
“They must,” his father said, “or Rathman may go to the sheikh, and the sheikh could punish us.”
The next day the bells were taken off the donkeys. The village was a sad and silent place. For weeks nobody sang or laughed. All that could be heard was the ugly sound of the camel’s big clanking and clunking bell.
Then one day after Rathman took his fish to the suq, he was late getting back to the village. The people saw him walking home across the desert without his camel.
One of the fishermen found enough courage to ask what had happened. Later he told Abu’s father, “Rathman’s camel stepped on a stone and fell. It strained a muscle and refuses to move.” The fisherman started laughing. “Rathman smells awful. The camel got angry and spat on him!”
All the villagers treated Rathman’s trouble as a big joke. Rathman stayed in his house, but he could hear the people laughing. Nobody offered to help him.
Abu felt sorry for him and spoke to his father about it. “Shouldn’t we try to help Rathman get his camel back to the village?”
“After the way he has treated us?” his father asked.
“But we are taught to be good to our enemies,” Abu said.
His father looked at him with a worried frown, then walked away.
Early the next morning Abu loaded his donkey with a bag of water and a bag of hamdh bushes for the camel. A few villagers looked curiously at the goatskin bags as Abu started through the village.
There were no dunes between the village and the town. At this time of the year the flat sand was abloom with zahra hamra, a beautiful pink flower. Abu enjoyed walking among the blooms while looking for Rathman’s camel. When he found the injured animal, Rathman was sitting beside it. The man didn’t speak to Abu, even when the boy started to feed and water the camel.
Suddenly Abu saw a long line of donkeys coming toward them from the village. When the fishermen and the donkeys arrived, Abu saw that the donkeys were hitched together and that they carried ropes and an old dhow sail.
“I told the men what you said—about being good to our enemies,” Abu’s father told him.
After tying the camel’s legs together, the men maneuvered it onto the sail and dragged it back to the village.
Rathman didn’t thank them, and the fishermen grumbled a little. Then, a week later, they found a small basket full of new donkey bells in the middle of the street. On top was a solid, shining brass bell marked, “For Abu.”

I would like to use my own family as an illustration of what I have in mind. Mother and I were filling a mission together over in Holland when we had a little girl born to us, and after we had been home a few years she passed away. When she was born, my wife has told me over and over again that she felt she saw an angel bring that spirit to her. And yet she is gone. Then I think of her four sisters. You voted here today to sustain one of them as a counselor in the general presidency of the Relief Society. Her other three sisters are just as noble and wonderful, although their talents may be just a little different.

When I think of this little one that we laid away when she was three-and-a-half years old, I thank God I have the faith to believe that God reigns in the heavens above and in the earth beneath and that this little one will ultimately enter into her glory and be equal to any of her four sisters who have tarried here upon this earth and raised their families. I thank God for the statement of the apostle Paul when he said that “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.” (1 Cor. 15:19.) In this brief period of mortality, it would not be possible for God to accomplish for all of his children all that he has in mind for them, the ones that are true and faithful.

My younger brother is silly, has a great imagination, and cares about others. He is one of my biggest fans when I perform on stage. He also has some special needs. He is very small for his age and struggles with reading, writing, talking, and sometimes understanding others. He is also deaf.
One day at play practice, I walked up the stairs to get to the stage. I heard someone say something mean about kids with disabilities. Everyone started to joke and laugh about it.
I know they didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but I got really sad and ran to find a place to hide. As I was sitting in my hiding spot, a grown-up sat by me and started to talk to me about the play. I started to feel better.
When it was time to go home, I told my mom what happened. She told me that it’s OK to walk away from something that makes me feel bad and that it’s OK to talk to a grown-up about my feelings.
Sometimes people don’t understand how it feels to have special needs or to know someone who has special needs. I want to be an example of love and kindness.

“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”

It was twenty-eight years ago that two young women brought the greatest and most precious influence into my family’s life.
We were living in a beautiful little town in Texas. Life was calm. I was very active in my church, an officer in the choir, Sunday School teacher, active in our Christian service organization. I loved my fellow church members and my neighbors dearly. We had bought a little home, and we had four lovely children, the oldest ten and the youngest just a few months old.
From my kitchen window I could look through to the end of the block and across the street and watch the construction of a building of some kind. I didn’t know what it was, but something drew me to it, and each day as I did the dishes I’d look out the window and note the progress. Our neighbors were curious, too, and when we found out it was a Mormon church, we were so upset. I didn’t know the Mormons even existed in this part of the country.
Several months passed. The little church on the corner was completed. It was small, but tastefully done in pinkish stone. I never saw anybody with long skirts or funny hats go in and out, though I expected to. I was rather disappointed that the members looked just like us.
One day there was a knock on the door. There stood two young ladies, neatly dressed. I cordially invited them into my home, and, like any good Texan, immediately asked if they’d like a cup of coffee. They politely declined, and we soon entered into a discussion about God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. They told me some things I’d never heard before. They said God had a body—a real body of flesh and bone—and looked much like one of us. Imagine! God, whom I loved so dearly, looking like a person. It almost seemed sacrilegious. I remember saying good-bye to them at the door, thinking, “You’re wonderful young ladies, but you certainly have some funny ideas. Your church has certainly led you astray. But you really believe it with all your hearts.”
About the same time the next week, another knock came on the door. It was the same two ladies. I invited them in, offered them coffee again, and they graciously declined again. Another discussion. Another parting at the door. This time they told me about a present-day prophet! Out loud I said, “It must give you a very good feeling to believe you have a prophet to lead you.” They assured me that it did. My inner thoughts said, “How does this church get them to believe something so strongly?”
Another meeting. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee with us?” Again a polite “No, thank you.” To my amazement my husband came into the room and sat in on the discussion with us.
We had more meetings each week. They told my husband and me all kinds of things—Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, the stone cut out of a mountain without hands, Jeremiah’s prophecies, the two “sticks” that would become one. I had read all these things before. I loved the Bible—it was very dear to me. Even as a child I loved it. I read a chapter each night before I went to bed, so some of the things the young women talked about were familiar. But now they started falling into place in logical order. How exciting it was!
By now our children had joined with us in the discussions, and the two sisters who had originally knocked on our door had been replaced by another pair of lady missionaries. I would put the baby in his playpen, and then we’d start bombarding the missionaries with question after question. We found that the two sticks mentioned in prophecy were the Bible and the Book of Mormon. “Do we get to see the Book of Mormon? When? When can I read it? Next discussion?” This was going to be a long week—I could hardly wait.
The week was long. I kept thinking about the Book of Mormon and could hardly wait to get my hands on it. The day finally arrived, and I hoped in my heart they wouldn’t forget the Book of Mormon. I even thought they might finally have a cup of coffee with us.
As we discussed the Book of Mormon, they told me of a wonderful promise contained in it. Yes, we’d give it a try. We’d pray about it.
It took only a few pages of the Book of Mormon to convince me that it was true. It’s true! This is the word of God! And so, each morning at 6:00 I would take my cup of coffee out on the back steps of the house in the cool morning air and read until the children woke up. How forceful were the words! Who could ever deny, after reading this book, that it was the word of God? It is the word of God! What a feeling of excitement, of discovery, of awe, of warmth, of wonder.
We still had at least three more discussions left when we were interrupted. Our four-year-old daughter, Nancy, came down with what appeared to be polio. I was still teaching a class in my church—dreading now to go—but instead of teaching my Sunday School class that morning, I was feverishly getting Nancy ready for a spinal tap at the local hospital. Our suspicions were confirmed; she had polio. We took Nancy to the Children’s Hospital in Houston, and I packed my Book of Mormon, knowing there would be many hours of waiting ahead of me. Somehow I knew that she would be all right.
In two weeks she was released from the hospital, and I had read a great deal of my new book.
Once more the missionary discussions began. At the next meeting I finally learned why it was that the missionaries kept refusing when I asked them if they would like a cup of coffee. When they told me they abstained from coffee, tea, alcohol, and tobacco, my heart sank. I thought to myself, “Now they’re going to tell me they don’t dance, go to movies, cut their hair, and any number of things.” But I was ready to give up whatever they asked. I already knew the gospel was true.
Now we were near the end of the discussions, and the plan of salvation was being presented. I’ll never be able to describe the joy I felt when I was told that I had dwelt with God before—that he knew me and taught me before I was born. You mean he actually knows me? Me? Just think! God knows me! Me! I was overjoyed. I wept. This was the most beautiful thing I had ever hear—that I had dwelt with God before, and that he knew me personally. Now I could easily think of him as a kind Father, a God of flesh and bone.
When the elders were introduced to us, I was very excited. The sister missionaries had told us about the priesthood, and I was in awe of the elders when they came. I felt the greatest respect for someone who held the priesthood of God. It was such a new thing for me. The children loved them instantly.
Yes, we were baptized. We had knelt in prayer and for the first time, self-consciously and timidly, and prayed together vocally. In simplicity and humility we asked our Heavenly Father if these things were true, and, in answer, received the warm, sweet assurances that only the Holy Ghost can bring.
In the many years since our baptism as a family, there have been many joys—yes, and many sorrows too, especially the death of my husband. Yet we have known the security of the priesthood in our home, the comfort of home teachers. We have laughed, sung, cried; we’ve been down to the depths of despair, and up to the heights of spirituality. We have experienced the sweetness of a temple marriage, the meaning of eternal friendships, the strength of the iron rod when all seemed utterly hopeless. We have helped make peanut butter in welfare projects in Texas, and helped to weed beet fields and canned peas in Provo, where we now live with our new husband and father.
Above all, we are truly grateful to be members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and for the missionaries who made it possible. And now we have sent our own David out as a missionary, with the hope that he will find other receptive souls and bring to them the joy and happiness that the missionaries brought to us.

I breathed a sigh of relief as we walked down the street to our last appointment. I was tired, and my feet were swollen and sore. It had been a particularly long day of proselyting in the sweltering heat of Bangkok, Thailand. Two days earlier, my bike had been stolen. I was trying not to be frustrated, but two days of walking had taken its toll. I took comfort in the fact that we were heading to an appointment with a newly baptized member—Kee. What a joy it had been to witness her conversion and growth in the gospel over the past two months.
The neighborhood where Kee lived was, without a doubt, the saddest place I had ever seen. The houses were makeshift shacks constructed of wood, tin siding, and cardboard built on stilts above four feet of sewer water and floating trash. Children with no shoes ran around on wooden planks suspended above the sewer. Men lay passed out in a drunken sleep while teenage boys sold drugs on the street corners. I had cried the first few times I had come to this neighborhood, being overcome by the sorrow, poverty, and awful stench. But out of this neighborhood had come two of our favorite investigators, the kind of people missionaries dream of finding.
Kee greeted us as we entered the gate leading to the group of houses we often visited. She immediately asked, “Sister, where is your bike?” We told her how my bike—a beautiful red bike with all the newest parts and gears—had been stolen. She and the neighbors listening nearby became greatly concerned over our loss and current situation. They asked, “How are you supposed to do your work? How are you going to visit all the people you need to visit?” These, of course, were our concerns also, but we told them not to worry.
After visiting with Kee, we headed home. That night we prayed, asking Heavenly Father for help, that things would work out, and that we would be able to do all we needed to do.
The next day we found ourselves heading back to Kee’s neighborhood. As we approached the gate, we noticed all the neighbors sitting out front whispering to each other. Their secret could not be held in any longer as they revealed that one of them had found an old bicycle. They had all pitched in to get it fixed up. Their smiles stretched ear to ear as they proudly presented their gift—a purple bike, scratched and dented, rusty with age. On the crossbar was a big fluorescent sticker which read “Super Bike.” The tires and gears had been lovingly washed and polished. Kee quickly wiped away the remaining smudge marks with the bottom of her shirt. Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks as I beheld this little purple bike, given out of sacrifice and love.
I realized that these people, who had but few worldly possessions, had taught the sister missionaries a lesson about love, the pure love exemplified by our Savior. In the eyes of the world, my Super Bike was a sad-looking, beat-up, rusty bicycle. But in my eyes and, I believe, in the eyes of our Father in Heaven, it was the most beautiful bike in the world, a priceless gift from the heart.

My mom took me shopping for school supplies. I found the prettiest and coolest backpack in the whole store. I was so excited to buy it! I looked at all the pretty girls on the front. They had cute faces and cool hair, but their outfits were not modest. I showed my mom the backpack. She asked, “Well, what do you think, Allee?”
In Primary we’re learning about baptism and what it means to belong to Jesus’s family. I know that Jesus would be embarrassed if I had a backpack like that. I told my mom that the backpack was really cute, but that I didn’t want to get it. So then I found another backpack that was modest and cute. I’m glad I chose the right.

Joseph V.’s great-grandmother has Alzheimer’s disease. That means that she can’t remember things and sometimes doesn’t recognize people. Joseph started keeping a journal about his experiences with his great-grandmother’s illness, and then he wrote a book. Because of his book, My Grandma Has Alzheimer’s Too, Joseph has been in the newspaper, on the radio, and on TV. Now his book is going to be published.
Joseph says, “When the media ask me how my book started, I tell them first I kept a journal for two years then started to write my book. Then they say, ‘How did an 11-year-old boy learn to keep a journal?’ I tell them, ‘My church.’ ”
Joseph is happy that he can bring people’s attention to the disease and to the Church. He also wants to encourage young people to keep records and journals.

A man I know was in a terrible car accident when he was a teenager. He was lucky to survive, and because of the wreck, had to undergo extensive plastic surgery on his face. After a year of operations, the work was finally done, and his life returned to normal.
When he went back to school, his friends immediately noticed that his nose didn’t look quite the same as it had before the accident. They promptly nicknamed him “rubbernose.”
“They called me rubbernose all the time,” he recalls, “just teasing of course. Naturally, I laughed right along with them, never complaining, never asking them to stop. But every time they called me that, it hurt. I’ve never forgotten it.”

What, then, are some of the decisions couples can make to lead fulfilled lives when the answer is that they will not have children in this life? One night, as my husband and I were seeking an answer to this question, we read from President David O. McKay, “The noblest aim in life is to strive … to make others lives … happier.” (General Conference, April 1961.)

It was like a beacon in the dark. It became a motto, a guiding light. That night, speaking I think by inspiration from the Lord, the patriarch of our family said to me, “You need not possess children to love them. Loving is not synonymous with possessing, and possessing is not necessarily loving. The world is filled with people to be loved, guided, taught, lifted, and inspired.”

My husband and I knew that parents are constantly placed in situations that develop unselfishness and sacrifice. We began to realize that if we were to learn the important lessons that our friends with children were learning, we needed to place ourselves in situations where we could serve and sacrifice. So we began to say yes to everything and to everyone.

It wasn’t long before we had many opportunities to serve and sacrifice. Often, at the end of a long week we would plan for a moment together—just the two of us—and the telephone would ring. We’d postpone our moment together and carry on with a joyful, grateful heart for our opportunities, hoping to qualify even in some small measure for the quality spoken of by Elder Neal A. Maxwell:
“So often our sisters [and I would add brothers] comfort others when their own needs are greater than those being comforted. That quality is like the generosity of Jesus on the cross. Empathy during agony is a portion of divinity! … They do not withhold their blessings simply because some blessings are [for now at least] withheld from them.” (General Conference, April 1978.)

I hated collecting fast offerings. The very idea of doing it made me shiver. Collecting fast offerings was a chore and one I thought was a waste of time, though I never really understood why I had to do it. I didn’t even know what fast offerings were used for.
As a deacon in my ward, I had the “route” which took me by my house and up an adjoining street, full of various houses. There was one home I always noticed. In this house resided a man I knew only as Brother Nichols. As a Blazer in Primary, I was once assigned to visit his house along with the rest of my group to bring him cookies and talk. But other than that, I never saw him.
Brother Nichols was an older fellow, a widower whose wife had died a couple of years earlier, who now lived in secrecy. His yard had decayed, and his home seemed to have died as well. The inside was filled with old black-and-white photographs of him and his wife. Brother Nichols had been a skier in Utah for many years, and he had plenty of what I considered boring stories to tell.
I never saw him at church, and every time I came to his house during my fast offering route, I would either pass his house completely or ring the bell once and hope he didn’t answer.
One Sunday, I felt particularly good. I decided that I would visit every house I was assigned to visit so that everyone would have a chance to donate fast offerings—even Brother Nichols.
When I got to Brother Nichols’s home, I rang the doorbell. No response. I tried at least three or four times, but nobody answered. As I started to walk away, I heard the door open. There was Brother Nichols.
I greeted him with a warm smile and began an attempt to converse with him.
“Hello, Brother Nichols. I’m here to collect fast offerings.”
“Why, hello young man,” he responded. “Nice of you to stop by.”
I wondered if he knew I had skipped his house on occasion and not cared to see if he was home. I decided that I would repent and become friends with him.
Brother Nichols placed a meager amount of money in the envelope, and I thanked him, giving him a smile and telling him to have a nice day.
This continued for two more months. During each visit with him, the conversations were longer, and I soon felt I could ask him to come to church with no trouble.
“Brother Nichols, you know, I haven’t ever seen you at church.”
“Ah, well, I haven’t ever had the interest …”
“Brother Nichols,” I interrupted, “please come once or you’ll regret it.”
He agreed, and sure enough, the following week, Brother Nichols came to church. He was smiling and he looked great. I thanked him for coming, and he thanked me for the invitation. I could tell by the look in his eyes that the Spirit was with him and his warm hand-shake filled me with the Holy Ghost as well. Throughout the entire meeting he smiled, and the messages from the speakers were fantastic. I was proud that I had brought this man to church, and I knew God was proud of me.
I never knew why I felt so good until a few days later when I found out that Brother Nichols had died. He was now with his wife and with the truth of the gospel which he had experienced.
I felt the Spirit strongly for the next few weeks, and I knew what it meant to be a deacon, to hold the Aaronic Priesthood and act in the name of the Lord. I also learned to not treat the responsibility of collecting fast offerings as a burden. Most importantly, I learned a bit more about the power of the truth of the gospel.

By 1889, just 10 years after the restored gospel arrived in central Mexico, Church leaders had felt prompted to shift the Church’s limited resources to establishing colonies in northern Mexico. The members near Mexico City, about 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the colonies, felt like sheep without a shepherd as missionaries left for the north. Though still surrounded by her family, Desideria knew that they would have to practice the gospel in isolation. This meant she would never have the benefit of joining the Relief Society or of receiving temple blessings while alive.
But she recognized that the Lord knew her. Through His servants, the Lord had manifested His desire to minister one by one to His flock. Because of her dream, the priesthood blessing, and the Book of Mormon, Desideria could testify of her absolute assurance that God cared for her spiritual and temporal needs. Though this knowledge did not prevent trials and challenges from occurring in her life, it did give her the confidence that the Lord would always ease her burdens.
In 1903, missionaries returned to southern Mexico for the first time since 1886. They met with José, who summed up Desideria’s endurance to the end and legacy of faith by saying that both his wife and his mother “died in full faith of Mormonism” and that he had “hope of dying in Mormonism.”7

I recently noticed my tendency to use electronics during church and youth activities. It had become a habit. Anytime I saw my phone, I immediately had to grab it and check to see if I had any new notifications or text messages. The solution? Hiding my phone from myself. Whether it was in a bag, under a chair, or even with a friend—if I couldn’t see my phone, I wouldn’t be tempted to use it.
Taryn M., 15, Florida, USA

In Charles Dickens’s timeless classic A Christmas Carol, Bob Cratchit hoped to spend Christmas Day with his family. “‘If quite convenient, Sir,’” he asked his employer, Mr. Scrooge.
“‘It’s not convenient,’ said Scrooge, ‘and it’s not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it, you’d think yourself ill used.’ …
“‘And yet,’ said Scrooge, ‘you don’t think me ill-used, when I pay a day’s wages for no work.’
“The clerk observed that it was only once a year.
“‘A poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December!’ said Scrooge.”
For Scrooge—as with any selfish, or “natural,” man—sacrifice is never convenient.

In A Christmas Carol, Mr. Scrooge changed his ways—he was not the man he had been. Likewise, this is the gospel of repentance. If the Spirit is prompting us to more fully obey the law of sacrifice in our lives, may we begin making that change today.

I am in seventh grade. Where I live, there aren’t a lot of members of the Church, and some of the people cuss and wear immodest clothing. As the environment around me started to become worse, I realized that if I didn’t strengthen my testimony and my relationship with God, then the worldly things would swallow me up. I noticed that I needed to become closer to God and that I needed to do it now.
I decided that I would choose to be around people who would respect my standards and that I would work harder in school and on my talents. On top of that, I helped prepare family home evening lessons so our family could be closer, and we started reading the scriptures together every night. I also decided to read my scriptures every day and keep a journal about what I’m reading. I pray every morning and night and when I need help. Every Sunday I listen in church so that I can learn as much as possible and do my best to absorb the teachings of prophets and apostles that are shared there.
My life is much happier now, and I can feel the Spirit every day. I don’t know why I was so driven to become closer to Heavenly Father, but it may be because of the feeling I got from doing good things or the blessings that were promised. I’m so glad I took the extra leap to become closer to my Heavenly Father. I know He loves me so much and blesses me so greatly.
Daniel N., Virginia, USA