Gospel Story Finder

One day at school before I was eight, they were inspecting our hands and nails to see if they were clean, and the principal saw my CTR ring (“HLJ” in Spanish). After the principal checked the rest of my row, she came back to me and said, “Rebeca, come with me to the principal’s office.” Then she said to my teacher, “Can I take Rebeca for a while?”
In her office, she asked me what the ring meant. I said, “Choose the right.” I explained that at church they teach us to do good, pray, and read the scriptures. She asked which church I went to, and I said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Then she asked me what that church was about, and I told her about Joseph Smith going into a grove to pray and seeing the Father and the Son. I told her about going to the temple to be sealed to my parents and that I would be baptized when I was eight. She said, “You can tell me more later.”
Later I took the principal a copy of the Book of Mormon with my testimony inside.

Jenny’s tears brought back a flood of memories for me. I remembered trying to make it all the way through the first verse of “Love at Home” (Hymns, 1985, number 294). But every time we hit “Time doth softly, sweetly glide,” my voice would crack—along with my composure. At my house, time rarely glided. It lurched from one emotional blowup to the next. In between, my brother and sisters and I walked on tiptoe, our nerves tightly strung. I guess we thought that if we were careful enough, maybe we could avoid setting off the next explosion. We could never be careful enough. And always the brief sunshine was followed by a terrifying storm of rage that threatened to swallow us up.
At times, the unthinkable fear came to the surface: maybe we would never be an eternal family. Over the years, that fear grew into a terrifying certainty. My clearest, most cherished childhood memory—of being sealed to my parents shortly after we had joined the Church—would ultimately mean nothing.
When my parents were divorced, I was in my twenties. But still I felt like a frightened child. All the happy parts of my past life with my family seemed suddenly canceled out—invalidated—no longer relevant. What joy could the present hold for me or for those I loved? And eternity? I felt eternally orphaned.
As I’ve grown older, understanding and peace have healed some of the wounds in my soul. And one of my greatest desires is to offer some of the peace I’ve found to those of you who are living in turbulent, unhappy families.

Years ago in the early spring, my wife and I had occasion to drive through beautiful Star Valley, Wyoming, USA. It was a wonderful spring morning, and the landscapes and scenery were inspiring.
As Jackie and I drove into Star Valley, we enjoyed seeing an occasional flock of sheep sprinkled with dozens of baby lambs. Few things are more endearing than a baby lamb. As we drove down the busy road, we saw a small lamb outside the fence near the roadside. It was frantically running back and forth against the fence, trying to get back to the flock. I surmised that this little lamb was small enough to have pressed through an opening in the fence but was now unable to return.
I was confident that if we didn’t stop to rescue the lamb, it would eventually wander into the nearby road and be injured or killed. I stopped the car and said to Jackie and our traveling companions in the backseat, “Wait here; this will take just a moment.”
I naturally assumed with my total lack of lamb-herding experience that the frightened lamb would be glad to see me; after all, I had the best of intentions. I was there to save its life!
But to my disappointment, the lamb was afraid and totally unappreciative of my efforts to save it. As I approached it, the little soul ran away from me as fast as it could along the fence. Seeing my plight, Jackie got out of the car to help. But even together we could not outmaneuver the quick little lamb.
At this point the couple in the backseat, who had been thoroughly enjoying the rodeo, piled out of the car and joined in the rescue attempt. With all of our efforts we finally corralled the frightened little lamb against the fence. As I reached down to pick him up in my clean traveling clothes, I quickly noticed that he had the distinct aroma of the barnyard. It was then that I began to wonder, is this effort really worth it?
As we picked up the lamb and lifted him over the fence to safety, he fought and kicked with all his might. But within moments he had found his mother and was pressed tightly and safely against her side. With our clothing a little disheveled but with great satisfaction and peace that we had made the right choice, we went on our way.

I must respectfully disagree with a statement in the article “Mission Field Inside the Grand Canyon” by Cal Decker in the May New Era. The article states on page 31: “Mules and horses are valued in Supai because they carry in tourists, groceries, feed, and even the U.S. mail. The only other way into the 500-acre Havasupai Reservation is by helicopter.” In the summer of 1972 I hiked down the Supai trail with a group of LDS students. In Supai we had an inspiring testimony meeting and short Sunday School with the missionaries living in Supai. The hike down to Supai was pleasant, but the upward climb was breathtaking (physically as well as figuratively). The trip was an experience of a lifetime, and I will never forget the simple, humble faith of the Supai Indians. I found the article in the New Era to be well-written and thought-provoking.
David B. CrippsProvo, Utah

More than anything else, Avery wanted to be a pitcher. But every summer he ended up being assigned to left field.
“This year’s going to be different,” he told his parents and his little sister, Soo. “No more left field for me. This time I’m going to make pitcher.”
“Good luck,” said his parents. Soo just wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Avery tugged his baseball cap down over his eyes and went outside to practice pitching. He bent a coat hanger into a square and suspended it with a wire from the cross-bar on Soo’s swing set. Hour after hour, day after day, Avery hurled a baseball at the coat-hanger square. By the time team tryouts came along, he could throw a ball through the hole seven times out of ten without touching the hanger. I’ll make pitcher for sure, Avery thought.
But when Coach Owens posted the practice roster, Avery was in left field again.
“Hi, Avery,” said Coach Owens. “Ready for a great season?”
Avery nodded, but he felt miserable. It isn’t going to be a great season, he thought, if I don’t even get a chance to pitch. The coach knows I’ve been practicing.
“All right, team,” Coach Owens said, “let’s get started.” The players took their positions, and the coach batted the ball to each of them in turn.
Avery watched the pitcher, a redheaded boy named Ken. He’s good, Avery thought grimly. Too good.
The ball flew out to left field, and Avery caught it neatly, tossing it to the short-stop, who relayed it to home plate. Maybe Ken will get chicken pox or something, Avery hoped. Then I’ll get my chance.
But Ken didn’t get chicken pox. He showed up for practice every day. Even though Avery could throw the baseball through the coat-hanger square nine times out of ten now, on the day of the season opener he was still out in left field.
“Wouldn’t you know it!” Coach Owens muttered, nodding toward the Visitor’s dugout. “That’s the team that beat us in the championship last year.”
“Don’t worry, coach,” said Ken cheerfully.
Easy for you to say, Avery thought, giving his cap a tug; you’re a pitcher.
“Let’s go, team,” Coach Owens said.
Avery walked slowly out to left field, looking toward the bleachers. His parents and Soo sat in the middle row with drinks and popcorn. Avery didn’t want to give Soo something to tease him about, but he didn’t have much chance to. Ken pitched two perfect innings, setting the Visitors down, one, two, three. Avery drew circles in the left field dirt with the toe of his shoe.
In the bottom of the second inning Avery’s team scored three runs.
“Keep pitching strikes, Ken,” Coach Owens said.
But in the top of the third, Ken walked two batters and then gave up a home run, so the score was three to three. Avery could hear the spectators calling for a new pitcher. He felt bad for Ken, but sort of good too. Maybe the coach would let him pitch now.
“Just settle down and relax, Ken,” Coach Owens said in the dugout when the half inning was over. “It’s only nerves. I want you to stay in as pitcher.”
Avery dragged himself back out to left field. Ken was going to blow the whole game.
But Ken quickly got back into his rhythm. In the fourth inning he was perfect again. In the sixth, Avery’s team went ahead four to three with a one-run homer.
“One more inning,” Coach Owens said. “Do your best, everybody.”
We’re ahead, Avery thought, trotting out to left field. If we keep them from scoring this inning, we win!
The first batter came to the plate. Ken struck him out, but walked the next one. The third batter hit a sacrifice bunt, and the runner went to second.
Avery frowned. We only need one more out, but a single could score the runner and tie the game.
The next batter swung the bat like he meant business. Ken pitched a strike, then a ball. His third pitch was hit with a smaack—hard and fast and straight at Avery!
If I catch it, the game’s over, and we win! Avery thought, going back, back, back. But the ball sailed over his head and hit the ground just inside the fence. Avery scooped it up and whirled around. The batter stood at first, but the runner from second was speeding around third. There wasn’t time to throw to the shortstop for the relay that they had practiced so often. Avery had to throw it all the way home himself—if he could.
Avery imagined a square hole in the catcher’s glove, then hurled the ball at it as hard and straight as he could. The sliding runner reached for the bag with his toe, but not before the catcher caught the ball and tagged him out. Everyone in the bleachers and on the field held their breath.
“You’re out!” yelled the umpire.
The crowd went wild. Ken ran out and grabbed Avery. “You did it! We won!”
Avery looked toward the bleachers. His parents were on their feet, cheering. And Soo was dancing on the bleacher seat, waving at him and screaming proudly, “That’s my brother out there, my big brother, the left field pitcher!”

Two weeks later the stake missionaries, Sister Hoer and Sister Gibson, came to our home. They taught us about the plan of salvation and the First Vision. They came four times, and after the fourth discussion offered us the challenge of baptism. We told them that we would pray about it and call them with an answer.
That night I prayed my first real prayer. Upon my knees, I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help me know if the Church was really true. The missionaries had explained to us how Heavenly Father answers prayers, so when the answer came I recognized it. Heavenly Father wanted me to be baptized.
My mother and sisters had similar experiences. My father, however, needed an extra boost, and that boost came, but not for several weeks.
Following a tradition at his school, my father took his students on a trip that year. Funds were low so my father drew a circle around the state of Colorado. He asked his students where they wanted to go within that circle. Salt Lake City was selected.
While on that trip, my father and a few of his students toured Temple Square. It was in the north visitors’ center that the much needed answer came.
The tour group had come through the visitors’ center to the last area, a film depicting Joseph Smith and the First Vision. The guide, an elderly man, turned off the lights and pushed the button. The curtains opened but nothing happened. He tried again and achieved the same results. Discouraged he turned the lights back on and said, “If you don’t mind, I would like to bear my testimony.” He did, and it was just what my father needed to make up his mind. My father asked if anything technical had ever gone wrong before. Nothing had, and it continued to run flawlessly after. I believe it was a miracle.
From his hotel room, my father called to tell us of his decision. We immediately called the missionaries and set the date for our baptism.
We gathered in the chapel, all clothed in white. One by one we went into the font and were baptized by Brother Petersen. I remember coming out of the water feeling pure, clean, renewed.
We gathered again in the chapel and our family sang “The Love of God,” and Sister Runnels sang “Where Love Is.” Never before has music so touched my heart.
We were confirmed by Brother Brown, and this began our life in the Church.
Now, five years later, I look back upon that special time in our lives. I can’t help but wonder what life would be like without the Church. I am sure it couldn’t compare to the joy we’ve found.

I’m sure I’ll never forget the branch president in Semarang, Central Java—President Samad. My companion and I were assigned to serve as a resource to him as he gained more ability to lead and teach the people of his branch. Very few missionary or training materials had at that time been translated into the Indonesian language.

We met with President Samad each Sunday for about forty-five minutes. He would ask us to discuss some topic—fast offerings, teacher development, or some other gospel-related subject—and we would prepare the best we could with this still-awkward second language of ours. We always began with prayer, and then he would say, “Sisters, you just do the best you can to tell me what you’ve prepared. Every so often, I’ll have you stop, and then I’ll tell you what the Spirit has taught me.” And that’s exactly what would happen. Those were some of the most spiritual experiences of my life.

Another sister said: “Sisterhood has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Several years ago my husband died suddenly, and I felt as if my world had collapsed around me. But just as suddenly, I was surrounded by a wonderful circle of sisters who helped bear my burden. They are always there. Our weekly trips to the temple bring such peace and comfort into my life. I rejoice in this sweet sisterhood.”

I recently heard Jenny’s story. She is a returned missionary whose parents divorced while she was serving her mission. She told how the thought of returning home “scared [her] to death.” But at the end of her mission to Italy, as she stopped in the mission home on her way home to the United States, a certain woman, the mission president’s wife, tenderly ministered to her simply by brushing her hair.
Years later, another certain woman, Terry—a stake Relief Society president and disciple of Jesus Christ—blessed Jenny’s life when Jenny was called as a ward Relief Society president. At that time, Jenny was working on her dissertation for her doctoral degree. Not only did Terry serve as a mentor to Jenny as a leader, but she also sat with her for 10 hours at the hospital when Jenny received the alarming diagnosis of leukemia. Terry visited the hospital and drove Jenny to appointments. Jenny confessed, “I think I may have thrown up several times in her car.”
Despite her illness, Jenny continued to serve valiantly as the ward Relief Society president. Even in her extremity, she made phone calls and sent texts and emails from her bed, and she invited sisters to come see her. She mailed cards and notes to people, loving her sisters from a distance. When her ward requested a photograph of her presidency for their ward history, this is what they got. Because Jenny is a certain woman herself, she invited all to share others’ burdens, including her own.
As a certain woman, Jenny testified: “Not only are we here to save others but to save ourselves. And that salvation comes from partnering with Jesus Christ, from understanding His grace and His Atonement and His feelings of love for the women of the Church. That happens through things as simple as brushing someone’s hair; sending a note with an inspired, clear, revelatory message of hope and grace; or allowing women to serve us.”

When I was a young missionary assigned to the British Mission, my first area of labor was in what was then the Bristol District. One of the local Church leaders emphasized that missionaries serving in that area needed to be “shipshape and Bristol fashion.”

Initially I didn’t understand the point he was making. I soon learned the history and meaning of the nautical phrase “shipshape and Bristol fashion.” At one time Bristol was the second busiest port in the United Kingdom. It had a very high tidal range of 43 feet (13 m), the second highest in the world. At low tide when the water receded, the old ships would hit bottom and fall on their sides, and if the ships were not well built, they would be damaged. In addition, everything that was not carefully stowed away or tied down would be thrown in a chaotic fashion and ruined or spoiled. After I understood what that phrase meant, it was clear that this leader was telling us that, as missionaries, we must be righteous, follow rules, and be prepared for difficult situations.

Last year in school, there was a new kid named Ricky. He had moved into our neighborhood and was starting school in America for the first time. Our teacher asked me and two other kids if we would help him learn English.
Every day the four of us would sit down and review words on flashcards and talk with him. At recess I invited Ricky to play with me and my friends. He liked playing kickball. After a while I asked Ricky if he wanted to play soccer too, and he said yes. So he started playing soccer with me and all my friends at recess.
We became good friends, and he came to my house after school a few times. Ricky is really good at math. He helped me with my math assignments. I have gotten better at math because of our friendship. Now after a year and a half, he speaks English very well. He’s able to help his mom communicate with others when she does her errands.
This year Ricky isn’t in my class, but we play together at recess every day. I really like being friends with Ricky. I learned that by helping others, I am serving Heavenly Father and am also blessed by serving others. Ricky has helped me in ways I didn’t know he could when I was asked to help him learn English.
I know that we need to be willing to do all we can to help our family members and friends. When we do this, we’re helping Heavenly Father and we will have good experiences. We are Heavenly Father’s hands on earth, and when we’re willing to help, we’ll be able to help those that Heavenly Father needs us to help.

Illustrations by Craig Phillips
While talking in history class about different religious denominations, my friend asked me about my CTR ring. Without hesitating, I explained that CTR meant “choose the right” and that my parents gave it to me for my birthday. He asked which church I belong to, and I told him I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or a Mormon. Until then I hadn’t realized that people don’t actually know much about the Church, but he seemed sincerely interested to learn more and asked me if I was an altar boy. I had no idea what that was, so he explained, and then I told him we had something similar called deacons.
We proceeded to ask each other questions, including, “Can your bishops marry?” and “Who is your archbishop?” He also asked, “You use the Bible, right?” To that, I explained our beliefs in the Bible and the Book of Mormon, which complement each other. The next day, I offered him a copy of the Book of Mormon. Inside the cover, I told him where he could get a CTR ring, because he was interested in getting one. My friend carried that Book of Mormon to school for about a week and said he couldn’t put it down. Though he never came to church with me, I’ve learned that a great way to share the gospel with others is to find common ground and to be interested in their beliefs as well. Throughout this experience, I learned a lot about what my friend believes, while he learned what I believe, and we’ve come to respect each other’s beliefs. I know one of the best ways to share the gospel is just to open our mouths and talk to our friends.

One bright, warm Saturday morning, gangs of teenagers invaded the little town of Guadalupe, Arizona. They were all dressed alike. They were spraying paint, breaking up concrete, hanging out at the park, and having a loud, noisy time.
Of course, they were also laying sod, repairing mailboxes, cleaning up empty lots, building handicapped ramps, landscaping homes, restoring the median in the middle of the main road, interviewing residents for town and family histories, furnishing some temporary homes, and, in general, doing good wherever they went.
Persuading more than a thousand teens to donate their muscles and their time on a Saturday was due to the efforts of the East Valley Youth Service Committee, an organization combining youth in Gilbert, Arizona, from St. Anne’s Catholic Church with the youth from five Gilbert LDS stakes.
The whole idea of interfaith service projects got started when Father Doug Lorig of St. Anne’s Catholic Church wrote a letter to Salt Lake City asking how the youth in Gilbert of both the Catholic and LDS faiths could become united. The answer came through President John Lewis of the Gilbert Arizona Stake. The youth could become united as they served together.
But where? Who needed lots and lots and lots of helping hands?
The town of Guadalupe was the answer.
Guadalupe is the name of a major road that runs through the towns of Tempe and Gilbert, Arizona. Everyone knows Guadalupe Road. It’s a major thoroughfare lined with fast-food restaurants, gas stations, churches, and neighborhoods. But most teens didn’t know what is at the end of Guadalupe Road, right where the street ends. At that spot, just a little over a mile square, is the tiny town of Guadalupe.
Several members of the East Valley Youth Service Committee were assigned to do some calling. Their quest, to find some places that needed service. One young woman contacted Mary E. Hoy, the assistant town manager of Guadalupe. “She called and said, ‘We’d like to do a project in your town. What would you like us to do?’” said Mary. “I had a couple of pages of things that needed to be done because we have so much need here.”
To Mary’s great surprise, instead of picking one or two items off her list, the report came back that the committee had anticipated being able to do almost everything on her list. “The town has been very excited,” reports Mary. “They love the idea of these teens coming to help.” With nearly 1,500 teens and their adult leaders attending, the town’s population doubled for that one day.
Mary’s list included turning a flood retention basin into a park, painting a mural on a noise wall, replacing or repairing all mailboxes, building ramps for houses of handicapped residents, hauling rubbish from the lots of elderly residents, painting homes and repairing roofs, interviewing families for the town’s historical record, beautifying the town’s center street median, and collecting furniture for and landscaping around emergency housing.
The first meeting was at a public auditorium, when the whole idea of working together in service, in addition to gathering support and donations from the community, was presented to anyone interested. Chad Heywood, 16, of the Freestone Park Ward in the Gilbert stake, said, “I’ve had a lot of kids come up to me and ask how they can get involved in it. It’s a fun thing to do now.”
Jennifer Barger, the adult volunteer supervisor from St. Anne’s Catholic Church, said, “I think the more they got involved, the more eager they were to participate. It’s a growing thing, with each other and with the town. It’s been quite a neat experience.”
As the planning for the project progressed, the teens involved started to discover a change in their attitudes. Aubree Wright, 17, of the Gilbert Ninth Ward, Gilbert Val Vista Stake, said, “The first couple of meetings, I was not feeling like I wanted to go. The more I went, it just became such a neat thing. I was looking forward to it. I’ve seen it in other kids too. You can tell that it’s starting to touch them.”
You might not think that getting together on one Saturday and hauling sod or painting a house would do all that much for world peace. But each action, each person doing one good thing, can begin to change the world. Standing shoulder to shoulder with shovels and rakes in hand with God’s children of other beliefs and cultures can make a difference. Melissa Geiger, 19, of St. Anne’s Catholic Church, was asked to be a youth representative on the planning committee. She said, “It sounds like an enormous task, making peace in the world. We can start small and meet on a common ground of service. That was our basis.”

She seemed to know instinctively that selfishness never led to happiness. I remember one summer being eager to give a birthday present to a young boy whom I babysat regularly. My mother didn’t give me a lecture on resources. Instead, we walked down to Main Street, where she purchased thirty-five cents’ worth of white broadcloth.
I helped tend my little brother as I watched her cut out a shirt with sleeves, interfacings, and a collar. After she carefully sewed the shirt together, she put on buttons from a worn-out shirt and made carefully hand-stitched buttonholes. The process seemed to take forever, but the new shirt was pressed and wrapped in time for the birthday, I remember the wonderful feeling I had as I presented the gift to the young neighbor. My mother’s gift to me was her time and effort and her support of my own desire to give.

May I relate to you my first journey along a personal Jericho Road. In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train, but rather one that operated through the miracle of electricity.
The times were those of economic depression, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train. For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track.
Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Widow Hansen’s boy, Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received.
However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car which was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.
Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”
I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.”
Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.
Mother and I left the Hansen home and slowly walked up the street. She took me by the hand, and together we returned homeward by way of our private Jericho Road.

When I was about 14, I had come to the conclusion that trying a beer once would be perfectly all right. Before I had tried one, however, I had an interview with my bishop to go on a youth temple trip. One of the questions was about experimenting with drugs or alcohol. I was glad I could say no, but the question puzzled me. “Wasn’t experimenting okay?” If that question was important enough to ask in a temple recommend interview, it must not be okay. Since then, I’ve realized if you never take the first you will never take the rest. I am grateful to the Lord and a bishop for guiding me and helping me avoid so much sorrow.
Elder Aaron Ellsworth, 20Washington Seattle Mission

Vicky, a recent convert and a student at UCLA, was kidded by a couple of her classmates about her stand on morality. Wisely, instead of saying that it was part of her religious belief, she adroitly popped the question: “You both speak as if you are sadly reluctant to deal with any kind of moral values. Are you?” Baffled, both girls mumbled an incoherent answer at the unexpected, sudden turn-around. “Look,” she prevailed, “while you may have lost your belief in any moral dimension, I, and many others I know, are finding new meanings in some terrific principles I have recently learned about. Let me tell you …”

A power question takes the thrust of the other person’s question, turns it around, and aims it back at the interrogator. Vicky’s response did just that. Here is another example: Ted, a priest and Explorer, was chatting with a nonmember student at school. The name of a mutual friend came up and the nonmember said amusingly, “Yeah, I know him. He’s a Jack Mormon, right?” Ted cooly shot back: “Exactly how would you define a Jack Mormon? Every definition of that term I have heard so far has been a shot in the dark!” The power question got Ted off the defensive.

Another good technique to use, particularly when the conversation is about a gospel principle, is to ask: “Do you really want to know, or are you just curious?” Somehow it usually puts the conversation in the proper perspective for you.

I wasn’t one of the “in” crowd at my California high school, so my circle of friends was smaller than most. I was so shy that I kept to myself most of the time. Yes, I was, as the saying goes, “painfully shy.” Indeed, I was so shy it hurt.
One day as I sat down at my desk in U.S. history, another shy girl sat down behind me. We had spoken to each other prior to this, I’m sure, but I didn’t remember anything about her before then.
As she set her books on top of her desk, her notebook crashed onto the floor beside me. I turned to pick it up and noticed it said, “Seminary—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” on the cover. I reached down, retrieved the binder, and handed it to her as I timidly said, “Oh, you go to church on Saturday?”
Her face displayed confusion at the question. “No, why?”
I pointed to the notebook cover. “It says ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ Doesn’t that mean you go to church on the last day of the week?”
She smiled and giggled slightly. Then she took a deep breath and asked, “What do you know about the Mormon church?”
I answered quite honestly, “Not very much.”
She inhaled deeply again and queried, “Would you like to know more?”
“Yes, I would,” I replied without hesitation.
At that instant her lower jaw must have hit the floor. Her eyes sparkled and an air of relief swept over her like a whirlwind. Before long we had set a date for me to meet with the missionaries and receive the first discussion.
I know that notebook did not fall on the floor by accident. As silly as my first question must have sounded, it opened up a channel between one shy girl and another. I found out her name was Yvonne Anderson, and we became friends. Yvonne introduced me to the Church and set up an appointment for me to see the missionaries. And when I was baptized, Yvonne was there.
That day in U.S. history, an instant bond was formed. And because of one golden question, two shy girls made their own eternal history.

I was very excited when I found out that my friend Hilary was going to stay with our family for eight days while her parents were on a trip. We always have lots of fun playing with dolls, riding bikes, and playing together in the backyard.
One morning when Hilary was staying with us, my mom read us the words of King Benjamin for scripture study. He said that we should “love one another, and … serve one another” (Mosiah 4:15). That afternoon after school, Hilary and I made a plan. We decided to surprise my family by showing them love and service.
We got up early the next morning and set the table for breakfast. Before we jumped back into bed, we laid out our clothes to wear that day and the clothes for my two younger brothers.
When it was Sunday, we emptied the dishwasher, cleared and washed off all the breakfast dishes, and swept the kitchen floor. Then we went straight to my room and got into our Sunday clothes. My mom was afraid that we’d be late for church with an extra person to get ready, but we helped her so much that our family arrived at sacrament meeting ten minutes early!
The last day of Hilary’s stay, she did all my kitchen jobs for me and helped my mom with my little brother, Grant. I secretly packed up her suitcase and gathered together all the things she needed to take home. Then I set the table for dinner, put clean towels in the bathroom, set out everyone’s toothbrushes, and straightened up the family room. I didn’t want to stop! My mom was really happy about everything we had done, and we felt very, very good inside.
Hilary and I decided that showing love and giving service to each other and to our families is just as much fun as riding bikes and playing with dolls.

President Oaks then told me a story. I still remember the principle. Opening a large chest filled with coins, a grandfather invited his grandchildren to collect all the coins they could. Excited, the grandchildren gathered handfuls of the more plentiful but less valuable coins, such as pennies, nickels, and dimes. However, one granddaughter carefully chose only a few coins. Her grandfather asked why. She replied, “Grandpa, all my coins are gold pieces.”