Gospel Story Finder

Growing up in southern Utah, some of us sought employment at the many gasoline service stations that lined old Highway 91 as it made its way through downtown St. George. My younger brother Paul, then 18, worked at Tom’s Service, a station located about three blocks from our home.
One summer day, a car with New York license plates pulled in the station and asked for a fill-up. (For you brethren under the age of 30, in those days someone actually came out and filled your car with gas, washed your windows, and checked your oil.) While Paul was washing the windshield, the driver asked him how far it was to the Grand Canyon. Paul replied that it was 170 miles.
“I’ve waited all my life to see the Grand Canyon,” the man exclaimed. “What’s it like out there?”
“I don’t know,” Paul answered. “I’ve never been there.”
“You mean to tell me,” the man responded, “that you live two and a half hours from one of the seven wonders of the world and you’ve never been there!”
“That’s right,” Paul said.
After a moment, the man replied, “Well, I guess I can understand that. My wife and I have lived in Manhattan for over 20 years, and we’ve never visited the Statue of Liberty.”
“I’ve been there,” Paul said.
Isn’t it ironic, brethren, that we will often travel many miles to see the wonders of nature or the creations of man, but yet ignore the beauty in our own backyard?
It is human nature, I suppose, to seek elsewhere for our happiness. Pursuit of career goals, wealth, and material rewards can cloud our perspective and often leads to a lack of appreciation for the bounteous blessings of our present circumstances.
It is precarious to dwell on why we have not been given more. It is, however, beneficial and humbling to dwell on why we have been given so much.
An old proverb states, “The greater wealth is contentment with a little.”
In his letter to the Philippians, Paul wrote, “Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content” (Philip. 4:11).
Alma instructed his son Helaman, giving him counsel that all fathers should teach their children: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day” (Alma 37:37).
Alma says, “Let thy heart be full of thanks unto God.” The Lord desires that we give thanks. In Thessalonians we read, “In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you” (1 Thes. 5:18).
As holders of the priesthood we should constantly strive to increase our gratitude. Gratitude may be increased by constantly reflecting on our blessings and giving thanks for them in our daily prayers.
President David O. McKay has said: “The young man who closes the door behind him, who draws the curtains, and there in silence pleads with God for help, should first pour out his soul in gratitude for health, for friends, for loved ones, for the gospel, for the manifestations of God’s existence. He should first count his many blessings and name them one by one” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1961, 8).
A constant expression of gratitude should be included in all our prayers. Often prayers are given for specific blessings which we, in our incomplete understanding, believe we need. While the Lord does answer prayers according to His will, He certainly must be pleased when we offer humble prayers of gratitude.
Brethren, the next time we pray, instead of presenting the Lord petition after petition for some action in our behalf, give Him thoughtful thanks for all with which He has blessed us.
President Joseph F. Smith has instructed us that “the spirit of gratitude is always pleasant and satisfying because it carries with it a sense of helpfulness to others; it begets love and friendship, and engenders divine influence. Gratitude is said to be the memory of the heart” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed. [1939], 262).
In October of 1879 a group of 237 Latter-day Saints from several small southwestern Utah settlements was called to blaze a new route and colonize what is today known as San Juan County in southeastern Utah. The journey was to have taken six weeks but instead took nearly six months. Their struggles and heroics are well documented, particularly their seemingly impossible task of crossing the Colorado River at a place called Hole-in-the-Rock. Those who have visited this place marvel that wagons and teams could have been lowered through this narrow crack in the red rock canyon walls to reach the Colorado River far below. Once the Colorado was crossed, however, many other severe tests awaited them on the trail to San Juan County. Tired and worn out, early in April 1880 they faced their final obstacle, Comb Ridge. The Comb is a ridge of solid sandstone forming a steep wall nearly 1,000 feet high.
One hundred and twenty years later, our family climbed Comb Ridge on a bright spring day. The ridge is steep and treacherous. It was difficult to imagine that wagons, teams, men, women, and children could make such an ascent. But beneath our feet were the scars from the wagon wheels, left as evidence of their struggles so long ago. How did they feel after enduring so much? Were they bitter after the many months of toil and privation? Did they criticize their leaders for sending them on such an arduous journey, asking them to give up so much? Our questions were answered as we reached the top of Comb Ridge. There inscribed in the red sandstone so long ago were the words, “We thank Thee, O God.”
Brethren, I pray that we might keep our hearts full of thanks and appreciation for what we have and not dwell on what is not ours. As holders of the priesthood, let us adopt an attitude of gratitude in all we do is my prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

She first heard the gospel preached in 1836 in Portage County, Ohio, about 40 miles (64 km) south of Kirtland. Cyrena took several months to decide to join the Church and was baptized in March 1837. In her autobiography, she noted that her siblings were “greatly mortified” at her choice and that as long as she lived at home, she “had to endure their persecutions.”2 Although she was the only member of her immediate family to join the Church, there was a small group of Latter-day Saints living nearby. She visited Kirtland that summer and received a patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith Sr. in April 1838.3

A few years ago, while serving as a mission president, I received a call on a Sunday night from a leader at the Provo (Utah) Missionary Training Center. He said that a missionary who was assigned to our mission—and who would arrive the next day—was having a crisis of faith. While in the MTC, he had begun to question whether he really believed what he had been taught all his life. He then called his parents and said he needed to return home because he did not have a testimony. They were loving and supportive but encouraged him to give it at least one day in the mission field. He hesitantly agreed and the following day I sat with him in an initial interview. With much nervousness he described that he did not know how he could possibly be a missionary when he did not know if the Church and its teachings were true.
An inspired question came into my mind: “Elder, what do you know is true?”
“I know my family loves me.”
I then told him I would assign him a wonderful companion and encouraged him to simply go out and bear testimony of what he did know was true—how a loving Latter-day Saint family has blessed his life. I bore my testimony to him that as he studied the Book of Mormon each day and did all that was asked of a missionary, the Spirit would help him gain the testimony he desired. He nervously agreed to give it a try; and as he left the office, I wrote on my notepaper 50 percent (meaning there was a 50/50 chance he would make it through the first week).
All week long I worried about this sincere and good young missionary, who had so many doubts and who questioned his faith. I resisted the urge to call him and see how he was doing, knowing that might make it too easy for him to ask to be sent home. So instead I anxiously awaited his first weekly letter to the mission president. My joy was full as I read the following:
Dear President Palmer,
I can honestly say I’ve had a great past week. When I spoke with you in our interview, the only thing keeping me going was fear of what would happen if I went home. I truly had no desire to stay and serve a mission for two years.
But as of right now, I’m so glad that I stuck it out. I still don’t know everything that I need to. But just in the last few days I’ve come to fully understand how the Church brings change and happiness to people’s lives. That’s what I am basing my testimony on. I know I still have a lot to develop my faith on, but this is a huge step for me. I had been stuck between what I was learning in Church and what my brain was telling me made more logical sense. But I’ve felt the Holy Ghost.
On Saturday night, we taught a guy named Cory. My companion brought the Spirit so strongly, and I knew Cory was feeling it as strongly as I was. When it was my turn to speak, I explained how Joseph Smith read in James and then prayed to know if it was true. While I quoted the First Vision I could hardly breathe. My heart was pounding. It was so awesome.
Like I said earlier, I don’t have a testimony of everything yet, but one thing I cannot deny is that Cory’s life will never be the same. We didn’t even get the entire baptismal invitation out before he said yes. I couldn’t believe it. I just kept thinking back to what my mom said before I left the MTC, that if I didn’t really give it a real chance, I would never find out for myself. But I plan on doing that now.1
This young man went on to become an outstanding missionary, whose faith became strong as he continued to grow in his understanding of the gospel through diligent study — and who received powerful witnesses of the Spirit while bearing testimony to others.

This lesson was brought home to one Latter-day Saint mother after a trip to the store with her daughter. None of the packages of hair bows on the shelf had exactly the right selection of colors, but it was possible to open and reseal the packages, so the mother removed unwanted bows from one package and replaced them with bows in preferred colors from another package. Both packages still had the same number and quality of hair bows; only the colors were different. But the mother was troubled for days after making the purchase. Finally she saw the problem clearly; she had manipulated the truth to her own advantage, in effect bearing false witness. Humbly, she asked her daughter’s forgiveness for teaching a lesson in dishonesty, and the two of them discussed how they could make amends.

Joseph was a thinker. He enjoyed debating with the other boys in the neighborhood. It helped to satisfy his yearning for understanding and truth.
One evening when Joseph reached the village of Palmyra, a light snow had fallen and the cold penetrated his clothing, carefully patched to make it last through the season. The lamplight flickering through the windows of the village store beckoned him on. His long legs lengthened their stride.
Joseph stood for a moment outside the door, studying the figures in the crowded room. Orsamus Turner and Pomeroy Tucker, two of the older boys, were already there, as were some of the men of the village.
Joseph stamped the snow from his shoes and entered the store. It smelled strongly of burning wood, cheese, and wet wool. He joined the group around the stove, scrubbing his hands in its warmth until he was scorched through.
When all the boys had gathered they discussed a subject to debate. Joseph’s penetrating blue eyes deepened as he offered a suggestion. “Ever since the big Genesee camp meeting people hereabouts have been stirred up over religion …”
Some mornings later, when the world was pink with sunrise, young Joseph slipped quietly out of his log home. His steps were quick with anticipation now that he had determined what to do to resolve his search for the truth.
Joseph thought it rather strange as he recalled the events of the previous night. He was reading a certain passage in the Bible, when the words seemed to leap from the page and found their way into his heart where they would not be stilled. Over and over his mind reflected on them. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could see those words in the first chapter of James clustered together on the page: “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”
If anyone needs wisdom, I do, Joseph decided. And if God will give me an answer and not consider it a bother, I’ll venture it, he thought humbly.
Joseph cut directly across the clearing, striding over tree stumps that protruded from the earth like wooden eruptions.
The Smith family had moved to their new farm in Farmington (later Manchester), New York, some three miles from the village of Palmyra, a little more than a year ago. Joseph had helped log the trees, and hauled many wagonloads of wood into the village to be sold for fuel. Some of the stumps had been burned out, but mostly they were left and the soil was tilled around them. Soon he would help scatter kernels of wheat into the broken ground, rich and fertile from layer upon layer of decayed leaves. Then the earth would need to be dragged over with a large maple limb to level it.
It was wearying work to clear forestland and make it tillable for farming, though somehow it didn’t leave him as tuckered out as trying to clear up the confusion in his mind. For some time Joseph had been in the midst of a “war of words” over religion. Some settlers argued for one church, some for another, and many ministers claimed that theirs was the only true church. The bad feelings that arose were not too well hidden either.
Joseph thought of his mother as almost a saint, and he believed his father was as good as Moses back in ancient times ever was. But even they could not agree on a religion. His mother and three of the children, Hyrum, Sophronia, and Samuel, attended the Western Presbyterian Church in Palmyra. Joseph’s father agreed with his father, Asael Smith, who wasn’t satisfied with any religion. He just kept studying the Bible; said he was looking for “the ancient order, as established by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and His apostles.” Joseph was somewhat inclined toward Methodism, and had attended some of their meetings. Yet in the midst of all the agitation around him, how could a boy be sure?
As he climbed a fence at the far end of the clearing he recalled how often he had asked himself: “What should I do? Who is right? How shall I know?” At times his yearning for the truth had almost been a hurt within him.
But now Joseph knew how to find the answer. Since he had read those words in the Bible, they were carved on his consciousness as clearly as initials on the trunk of a tree. He had decided to follow them implicitly, and he was going into the woods to pray. He would ask God which church to join, believing that God meant just what He said, “… and it shall be given him.”
Why didn’t I think of it before? he wondered. (To be continued.)

Alice’s mom is a doctor, and her father trains people in first aid. Alice and her family started a youth volunteer team to help people in their area.
First, her parents trained more than 100 teenagers and their parents in first aid. Alice helped too. Next the team gathered more than 3,000 items of clothing for people in need. They also gathered lots of shoes.
The local police were very impressed with their work. They gave the team a table at the market to help them do more good work.
“We believe in God,” Alice says. “So we serve everyone!”

Let me share with you a personal experience that may be of some help to those who feel insignificant, forgotten, or alone.
Many years ago I attended pilot training in the United States Air Force. I was far away from my home, a young West German soldier, born in Czechoslovakia, who had grown up in East Germany and spoke English only with great difficulty. I clearly remember my journey to our training base in Texas. I was on a plane, sitting next to a passenger who spoke with a heavy Southern accent. I could scarcely understand a word he said. I actually wondered if I had been taught the wrong language all along. I was terrified by the thought that I had to compete for the coveted top spots in pilot training against students who were native English speakers.
When I arrived on the air base in the small town of Big Spring, Texas, I looked for and found the Latter-day Saint branch, which consisted of a handful of wonderful members who were meeting in rented rooms on the air base itself. The members were in the process of building a small meetinghouse that would serve as a permanent place for the Church. Back in those days members provided much of the labor on new buildings.
Day after day I attended my pilot training and studied as hard as I could and then spent most of my spare time working on the new meetinghouse. There I learned that a two-by-four is not a dance step but a piece of wood. I also learned the important survival skill of missing my thumb when pounding a nail.
I spent so much time working on the meetinghouse that the branch president—who also happened to be one of our flight instructors—expressed concern that I perhaps should spend more time studying.
My friends and fellow student pilots engaged themselves in free-time activities as well, although I think it’s safe to say that some of those activities would not have been in alignment with today’s For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. For my part, I enjoyed being an active part of this tiny west Texas branch, practicing my newly acquired carpentry skills, and improving my English as I fulfilled my callings to teach in the elders quorum and in Sunday School.
At the time, Big Spring, despite its name, was a small, insignificant, and unknown place. And I often felt exactly the same way about myself—insignificant, unknown, and quite alone. Even so, I never once wondered if the Lord had forgotten me or if He would ever be able to find me there. I knew that it didn’t matter to Heavenly Father where I was, where I ranked with others in my pilot training class, or what my calling in the Church was. What mattered to Him was that I was doing the best I could, that my heart was inclined toward Him, and that I was willing to help those around me. I knew if I did the best I could, all would be well.
And all was well.

I would like to say that running made the last treatments easier, but it didn’t. I have had my last treatment, and it was the very hardest for me. It seemed like the effects were doubled. I felt like I was being raked through hot coals one more time and that someone had deliberately put twice the amount of coals on the fire.
During that last treatment, my father sat on my bed and put cold compacts on me. The treatment magnified everything. I didn’t want anyone to even touch me. Just being touched hurt. When my father put the compacts on me, I wanted to yell at him and tell him to take them off. But I could see in his eyes how helpless he felt. I realized how much he needed to feel that he was helping me in some way. It made me feel good deep inside to know that he was feeling better because he was helping me. Sometimes you have to take to give.

In the April 2013 general conference, Edward Dube was called to be a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy, making him the first General Authority of the Church from Zimbabwe. This was only the most recent of many firsts for Elder Dube. He was also the first native stake president, first native mission president, and first native Area Seventy from Zimbabwe. Elder Dube has been a true pioneer of righteous leadership.
Before all that, however, there was another first for Elder Dube: his first day attending church. Two years before he went to church for the first time, he was given a Book of Mormon by a Latter-day Saint man for whom he was working. Elder Dube read the Book of Mormon and felt its influence and power.
In February 1984 Elder Dube accepted an invitation to attend a fast and testimony meeting at a local branch. He felt so nervous when he entered the chapel that he almost immediately turned around and walked back out.
Soon, however, Elder Dube’s feelings began to change once the branch president stood and bore testimony of the Book of Mormon. A testimony of the Book of Mormon was one area Elder Dube felt was common ground. He stood and shared his own thoughts and feelings of the Book of Mormon after several other members bore testimony.
Soon after that first sacrament meeting, Elder Dube began to investigate the Church in earnest. He was baptized several months later. He then served a full-time mission in the Zimbabwe Harare Mission. Elder Dube married Naume Keresia Salizani on December 9, 1989. They have four children.
Elder Dube has seen many ups and downs for the Saints in Zimbabwe as a result of political turmoil. Through it all, he has relied on the Lord for strength and guidance. “I look back on my life and I truly feel grateful,” he said. “The gospel has been everything in my life.”3
“To me, Elder Dube is a Brigham Young or Wilford Woodruff of Zimbabwe,” says President Keith R. Edwards, a former member of the Seventy who currently serves as president of the England Missionary Training Center. President Edwards was mission president of the Zimbabwe Harare Mission from 2000 to 2003 and worked extensively with Elder Dube, who was serving as stake president at the time. “Elder Dube just has a vision of what the gospel is supposed to do and how it is supposed to work.”4

When we started talking about the sacrament in Sunday School, I thought I had a good understanding of it from earlier lessons in Primary and seminary and from completing my Personal Progress. But I found out I still had a lot to learn.
My teacher began the lesson by asking a simple question: “How do you keep your covenant to always remember the Savior?” I began to think about how I live each day and if I really always remember my Savior. Was I keeping my baptismal covenant the very best I could?
In class we talked about different things that would help us always remember Jesus Christ. Some of the things included having consistent daily prayer and scripture study, praying for the Spirit, singing hymns, taking time to ponder, writing in a journal, going to the temple, and keeping items around home that remind you of Jesus Christ, such as pictures of Him and of the temple. At the end of the class, we were asked to apply the things we’d discussed and to prepare all week long to take the sacrament the next Sunday.
During the week, I tried more diligently to focus on Jesus Christ. I studied scriptures about the sacrament, and I tried to allow myself quiet time to think about what I’d learned. Before then, I used to listen to popular music during most of my free time, but I decided to take a break and ponder sometimes or listen to hymns instead. I prayed for the Spirit to help me remember my covenant and tried to remember to act as the Savior would. I even took the advice to write in my journal, and at the end of each day I took time to reflect on what I’d done well and what I needed to improve. All week I looked forward to when I could take the sacrament again.
On Sunday, I prepared to go to church in a more reverent manner. I woke up early so I wouldn’t be in a rush to get ready right before I had to leave.
By living the principles from our lesson, I learned more about the sacrament and my baptismal covenant. It increased my testimony of the Savior and of His Atonement. I found that when I strive to remember Jesus Christ, I am much happier. It’s easier for me to deal with trials, because I know that He can help me through anything. I’m grateful for the sacrament and for the opportunity I had to make it a bigger part of my everyday life.

“I never asked God for anything that He didn’t then give me,” my wife, Deborah, said. This statement still astonishes me even though I was with her throughout its fulfillment. And it probably astonishes all those who know of Deborah’s seven-year struggle with systemic lupus, her two-year fight with breast cancer, and her eventual death on September 19, 1990. But those who are amazed and astonished may not understand priesthood blessings or their fulfillment. It was with difficulty that I learned for myself what it means to hold the priesthood and to exercise it to bless others.
Although my parents were both active in the Church and faithful to its precepts, I don’t remember the priesthood being a specific spiritual influence in my childhood. I don’t recall being sick enough to need a blessing and have no memory of priesthood blessings administered to others in my family.
This lack of emphasis on priesthood blessings carried over into my own family when I married and my wife and I had children. I gave priesthood blessings if someone was seriously ill or was having an operation. I also gave my wife a few blessings for emotional help, but those occasions were rare.
Giving a blessing was always a positive experience for me. But a lack of understanding and a shortage of self-confidence limited my exercise of this priesthood function. I struggled to know the words to say, unsure if what came into my mind was really what God wanted.
This situation changed little when my wife discovered she was suffering from systemic lupus. Those years of battling a disease of exhaustion and discomfort were aided by only occasional priesthood blessings. My wife was aware of my uneasiness about giving blessings and seldom asked for the additional spiritual help she may have desired.
In March 1989, when the doctor announced that my wife had cancer, our lives were altered. Because of the exotic nature of her cancer, it had eluded physicians for two years. By the time it was finally diagnosed, it had spread and her chance for recovery had significantly diminished. Knowing we were in a struggle we could not win on our own, we further opened our lives to spiritual help. Our ward fasted for Deborah, and we gratefully accepted the care of the Relief Society. Her battle became one fought by many. A friend who had endured the same chemotherapy my wife was about to receive confided that during the most difficult periods of the treatment, he had requested and received priesthood blessings. He advised us to do the same—to seek spiritual help in order to tolerate the effects of the treatments.
The chemotherapy was difficult. My wife experienced all the expected reactions. She was sick for several days after a treatment. She spent most days in bed, and eating was a chore. But little by little we learned how to confront each challenge as well as possible.
During this difficult period, my wife, as our friend had advised, called on me for priesthood blessings. I gave her a blessing to help ease the anxiety she experienced the first week of chemo. Through a priesthood blessing, the fear accompanying an operation—though not completely eliminated—decreased. Long periods of vomiting stopped and sleep replaced restless nights as I laid my hands on her head and blessed her. These blessings gave us promises of help and comfort, intermingled with glimpses of the future. They filled us with warmth and joy.
I wish I could say that giving blessings became easier for me then, but I can’t. I gave the requested blessings, but my difficulty in exercising the priesthood persisted. I never mentioned my discomfort to my wife, but she could sense my reluctance. However, these were difficult trials, and she knew she was entitled to help and I was the conduit through which she could receive it. So when she needed help, she asked.
Before giving any blessing, I knew what I wanted to bless her with: I wanted more than anything to bless her to be healed. And she wanted that too. But that blessing never came. What did come were blessings of comfort, which didn’t take the trial away but made it easier to bear.
Slowly I began to understand better how the priesthood and priesthood blessings work. Giving blessings wasn’t a tool to get what I wanted but rather a way to receive needed help. I learned to trust in the Lord and His will instead of what I thought needed to be done. I gained confidence that the words that came to my mind were indeed the words God wanted me to say. And while giving blessings has never become easy for me, I have learned to trust in the feelings I have while giving blessings.
After Deborah completed her treatments, we began the difficult phase of waiting to see if the drugs had been effective. We enjoyed this time free of doctor’s appointments, tests, and treatments. However, in the back of our minds was the fear that some cancer had been able to survive the onslaught of the poisonous anticancer drugs and was reestablishing itself.
Little by little, small physical signs convinced us of our greatest fear: the treatments had not been successful. The doctors were upbeat, but we knew it was a matter of time.
The last six months of Deborah’s life were incredibly calm. After one last procedure failed, we decided to discontinue the treatments and to go home and enjoy what time was left. Some may not believe that it was a wonderful few months, but it was the best time of my life.
During this period some concerned friends and family suggested that we needed to be more assertive with the Lord in our battle to save her life. They told me that I had the priesthood and should use it to cure her. Though I understood their feelings, these friends didn’t understand what was happening. There was nothing I wanted more than to promise Deborah life, but those words never came while I was giving her a blessing. There was little she would have desired more than to have a blessing of health, but she never felt she should ask. We both believed in miracles but also recognized our limited perspective on an experience that fits into an eternal plan.
What did happen was a greater miracle. In the blessings, she was never promised life but was given the indisputable assurance that what was happening was God’s will. She was not promised ease but was given help to endure the difficult times. She was not allowed to stay and raise our children but was assured of eternal bonds. She passed away with only limited pain and discomfort, with her family at her side.
I know that God does exist and deeply cares for us. He provides us with comfort and assistance when we need strength and understanding. Though life is difficult, the Lord has promised to help us through our trials, and one way help comes is through priesthood blessings. Knowing this, my wife was able to say, “I never asked God for anything that He didn’t then give me.”

I wanted to write you and thank you for your article “I Didn’t Fit In” (May 2000). When I read it, I felt so grateful that I was not the only one in this vast world that has experienced that feeling of stupidity when you stand up for what is right in a crowd of people who are not doing what’s right. My roommate recently invited me to go with her to another city to visit a friend she hadn’t seen in a while. I agreed to go with her simply because she is my friend and I wanted to support her. When we arrived at the house, I walked in and was overwhelmed by the smell and the smoke. Everyone was doing drugs. I crouched in the corner hoping they wouldn’t see me, but of course they did and they started pressuring me to smoke. It became so overwhelming that I ran outside, got in my roommate’s car, and just cried until she finally came back out. During that time, I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed. I longed so badly to be surrounded by my good LDS friends. I realized that even standing up for what you believe in is not enough. You have to be in the right places because the Spirit will not dwell where others around you are doing things to drive it away.
Name Withheld (via e-mail)

I noticed that I was having a hard time paying attention in school. I was daydreaming a lot, and I wasn’t learning everything that I was being taught. So one night I prayed to Heavenly Father, “Please help me to pay attention in class so that I can raise my grades.” The next day I went to school, and it was a good day. I learned a lot and was able to pay attention to the teacher that day. Now I know that if you ask with all your heart, Heavenly Father will answer your prayer.
Brock P., age 11, Utah, USA

Min-Jun stared out the window at the clouds. “It looks like it will rain tomorrow,” he said.
Grandfather looked up from his newspaper and nodded. It was late summer in Seoul, South Korea, and monsoon season had begun.
Min-Jun set an umbrella next to his clothes for Sunday. “I think we should leave early tomorrow.”
Grandfather smiled. “Good idea. We’ll have to walk the longer way, in case the lower road floods.”
“Do you think the Church building will be all right?” Min-Jun asked. Last year the basement had flooded during monsoon season.
“Yes,” said Grandfather. “But it never hurts to pray.”
“Then I’ll pray for the church tonight. And that we can make it there safely. Jal-ja-yo (good night).” Min-Jun bowed and went to bed.
In the morning they left the apartment early. Min-Jun looked up at the dark clouds that filled the sky.
“Have faith,” said Grandfather.
Min-Jun followed Grandfather up the narrow staircase on the hill near their apartment. They paused at the top to catch their breath. Their white shirts were already damp from the heavy humidity in the air.
Grandfather held out his hand to feel the first raindrops. “Do you feel that? The rain is starting.”
They opened up their umbrellas. By the time they reached the next staircase, the rain was coming down fast. Min-Jun squinted to see each step through the rain. “Whoa!” he cried as he slipped and landed on his knee.
“Are you hurt?” Grandfather asked. He leaned down to look at the hole in Min-Jun’s trousers.
“It’s just a scrape,” Min-Jun said, his voice shaking.
“Let’s fix it up at the church,” said Grandfather.
Min-Jun and Grandfather climbed the rest of the stairs and turned onto the upper road.
“The wind is worse up here,” said Grandfather, clutching his umbrella. Min-Jun could barely control his umbrella. Suddenly a gust of wind came and flipped it inside out, tearing the umbrella at the seams. Min-Jun’s shoulders drooped.
Grandfather held out his umbrella. “Come under mine. We’re almost there.”
Min-Jun and Grandfather shared the umbrella, but it didn’t do much to keep out the constant rain. As they came near the church, Min-Jun heard music playing.
“They’ve already started!” Min-Jun ran to the front doors. Then he saw his reflection in the glass. His hair was matted and dripping, his trousers were torn, and his shoes were muddy. He shrank away from the door and back down the steps.
“I … I can’t go in,” Min-Jun stuttered.
“You’re just fine,” said Grandfather.
“But I’m all dirty and wet!”
Grandfather looked at Min-Jun, then looked at the rain gauge tied to the fence.
“It’s easy to measure the rain, Min-Jun, but how do we measure ourselves?”
Min-Jun blinked up at Grandfather.
“You see muddy shoes, a scraped knee, and messy hair, and you think you don’t measure up to much,” Grandfather said. “But Jesus Christ has a better way of measuring. He sees your heart and knows that you’re doing what’s right. If you measure yourself His way, you’ll see that the gauge is overflowing.”
Min-Jun looked at the rain gauge. It kept rising with each raindrop. He thought of how hard he had worked to get to church and how warm and happy he felt when he was there. He thought about how much he loved the Savior and how much the Savior loved him.
Min-Jun hugged Grandfather, and together they walked into church.

During recess I was standing in the middle of a group of kids my age when one of the girls started swearing. Another boy soon joined in, and I felt very uncomfortable. I knew Heavenly Father would not want us to use these words. I asked them to stop swearing, but they continued to use bad language. I decided to walk away so they knew I wasn’t going to participate. I was sad they didn’t listen, but I knew I had stood up for what I believed in. I knew that Heavenly Father was happy too.
Caleb B., age 12, Utah, USA

“Sarah, your father needs my help with the planting for a few hours this morning. Would you please take care of John and Laura for me? It would be a big help to us. I would like you to finish washing the breakfast dishes for me, too, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Ten-year-old Sarah was annoyed and frustrated by her mother’s request. She had wanted some time by herself today so she could finish the poem she had started last week. Sarah had gotten the idea for the poem when she had seen a mother robin feeding her tiny babies in the nest outside her bedroom window. She had just started on the poem that day when she had had to stop and help her mother.
Sarah could see, however, that her mother really needed her help again today, so she answered, “All right, Mama, I’ll help you. But do I always have to be the one to take care of the children? Isn’t there anyone else who can do it? John’s almost six. Isn’t he old enough to help out with some of the work?”
Mother smiled and replied, “John and Laura really do need someone older to take care of them. We don’t want to take advantage of your good nature, dear, but I always have a calm, secure feeling when I know you are home taking care of things. We love you and appreciate your help.” Mother kissed the children and quickly left the house.
“Sarah, why don’t you like to watch us?” asked Laura, her dark eyes flashing. “John and I are always good.”
Sarah looked at her four-year-old sister and tried to smile. “I know you’re good, Laura. It’s just that I wanted to finish writing a poem I started. I want to be a writer when I grow up, and I’ll never be any good if I don’t have time to practice. Will you and John go outside and play while I clean up the kitchen, please?”
“We’ll go outside if you tell us a story first. Your stories are always good,” said John.
“Not now. I’m just not in a storytelling mood,” Sarah replied.
The two younger children knew better than to bother Sarah when she had something on her mind, so they went outside. With a sigh Sarah began to wash the breakfast dishes. She watched the soapy water cover the plates in the large dishpan and thought about her life. Here she was, ten years old, and all she really knew how to do was wash dishes and take care of Laura and John. Would she ever have time to learn to be a real writer, like the people who wrote the books and poems she loved to read?
After the last dish was put away, Sarah hurried outside. She found Laura and John and told them a story she had written for a school assignment. Then it was time to fix lunch for the three of them. Just as they finished eating, Mother returned.
“The kitchen is so clean, Sarah! What would we ever do without you? Would you like to walk into Kirtland and meet Mary when she gets out of school? I won’t need you until later this afternoon.”
Sarah was delighted. There were a lot of things she needed to straighten out in her mind, and this would give her a chance to do it. Walking into Kirtland, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hardly noticed the temple. Usually when Sarah walked into town, she gazed at the beautiful temple and admired the sparkly outside walls. Her mother had given some of their best china to the Church building committee. Their dishes, along with those of other members, were ground up and mixed with the plaster for the outside walls so that the temple would always sparkle in the sun.
Not far from the temple was a small building that was used as a school for young ladies. Sarah’s best friend, Mary, attended the school. Mary often talked about her teacher, Sister Snow, and the exciting things she taught. Sarah had seen Sister Snow many times at church and thought she was beautiful with her dark hair and eyes. Sarah hoped that she, too, would someday be taught by this fine lady. She knew that Sister Snow was a great poet, and she wanted to grow up to be just like her. As Sarah waited for Mary to come out of school, she wondered how Sister Snow had ever found the time to learn to write poetry. Girls and women had so much to do around the house every day.
“Sarah, what are you doing here?” Mary asked smilingly, interrupting her friend’s thoughts.
“Mother let me leave the house for a while. May I walk home with you?”
“Oh, you know you may. I want to tell you about our lesson in school today. Sister Snow told us about her early life. Did you know that she had a lot of younger brothers and sisters and that she always had to take care of them? She told us today that no matter how hard she worked, she always made time for her writing because it was important to her. When she was only twenty-two, she was asked to write a poem in tribute to President Thomas Jefferson and President John Adams when they both died on the same day. Her poem was published, and Sister Snow could have been famous if she had wanted to be! But she told us that such things were not important and that she would much rather write for the people she loved.”
Sarah was silent as they continued walking. When they reached Brother Whitney’s store, they went in. Sarah had brought several pennies with her from home, and she bought them some candy.
As they were sitting on the porch of the store eating their candy, Sarah said, “I’m glad you told me about Sister Snow’s life. If she could do all of the things she had to do in a family with younger brothers and sisters and still become a great poet and writer, so can I. If I do everything I’m supposed to do every single day, I can still find a little bit of time to do what I want to do. I’m going to become a great lady and a great poet just like Sister Snow. Come on, Mary. I want to get home. If Mama doesn’t need me, I’m going to work on my poem.”

As I grew older, the world was changing. There was a war, and as a result, the number of missionaries each ward could send was limited. I didn’t think that I could go on a mission at age 19 even though I had always wanted to.
Then one day my mother said to me, “The bishop wants to see you this afternoon.”
When I arrived at the bishop’s office, he said, “David, our ward has been given the blessing of being able to send one more missionary. The bishopric has been praying about who should go, and I want you to know that now is the time that the Lord would have you serve your mission.”
I was stunned. I had no idea that’s what we were going to be talking about. I had always known that President David O. McKay wanted me to serve a mission, that my mom wanted me to serve, and that I wanted to serve. But no one had ever said to me, “The Lord wants you to do something now.”
I asked the bishop if I could think about it for a week. Then I got in my car and drove around for an hour before ending up back at the church. I went to the bishop’s office and knocked on the door. When I opened it, he was still sitting there. Nothing was on his desk. He didn’t seem to be doing anything. “Bishop, what are you still doing here?” I asked.
He said, “I’m waiting for you.”
I told him, “Bishop, if the Lord wants me to go, then I will go.”
I’m grateful I did. Children, do what the Lord asks you to do when He asks you to do it. If the bishop asks you to do something, obey. If your Primary teacher asks you to do something, say yes. The Lord will bless you, even as you face challenges.

Will Hopoate, centre for St. Helens Rugby Football Club and a member of the Church, credits gospel teachings with helping him to balance his personal and professional life.
He says, “In the juggling act of balancing work, family, and Church, the gospel helps with priorities and perspectives for me and my family. With the help of my wife, I strive to put the Lord first, then my family and then my work. I am a rugby player. It’s what I do—not who I am.”
Will Hopoate was born and raised in a Latter-day Saint family of eleven children whose father, John, also played rugby. He began playing professional rugby league in 2010 in Australia. He turned down a million-dollar plus contract to serve a two-year mission for the Church in Brisbane, Australia.
He credits his mission experience with helping him develop the spiritual anchor he has today.
“There are so many things that I use in my everyday life that I learned from my mission in terms of time management, priorities and habits. I see a mission as more of a privilege than a sacrifice because what I gained spiritually outweighs the sacrifice.
After his mission, Will later played for the Canterbury Bulldogs in Australia. As he was completing his contract, Will was invited by coach Kristian Wolff to play and compete for St. Helens R.F.C. in England, beginning in 2022 for two years, with an option for a third year.
When asked about how his team members view his faith, Will responds, “They are very respectful. If you set your standards and values right from the start, it eliminates a lot of challenges.”
He adds, “Over the years I can see how gospel teachings have really helped in terms of keeping me safe from off field incidents. With obedience to a health code and being chaste, I’ve been protected from consequences that have cost some athletes their careers or their contracts because of misconduct.”
When challenging experiences come, such as dealing with injuries or being away from family for games, Will says he relies on his relationship with the Saviour and years of practised discipline and discipleship.
Will’s most important team is the one he has created with his wife, Jimicina “Jimi”, and their four children. They love being in the UK and experiencing its culture, including seeing snow for the first time. Though their families are in Australia, they feel the support of their UK friends and Church community.
Will says that Jimi plays a vital part in the success of their family. “She offers encouragement and support to me and the children both physically and mentally.”
“I feel like both of us need to be on our games in our roles as parents,” says Jimi. “If things are good at home and in our marriage, Will can go to training with the focus and energy he needs.”
She adds, “One of the things that seems inspiring to our followers on social media is the intentional role that Will plays in teaching our children the gospel. He leads the kids in family prayers and puts a lot of effort into preparing gospel lessons just like he did as a missionary.”
Jimi continues, “Our children love it because Will teaches them in a way they can understand. Family home evening is a great blessing for our family.”
Years of practised discipleship and discipline have honed Will Hopoate’s skills both in the home and on the rugby field.
When asked about giving advice to someone pursuing an athletic career he says, “I think first and foremost you need to enjoy it. I love playing rugby and that attitude helps to push me through the challenging times or injuries.”
Will concludes, “There may be people more talented, faster, or better than you. If you enjoy what you do and are disciplined such as being on time, showing up and having a good attitude, you can be successful at any career.”

Patrick Smith, another young man in the Hingham stake, reports that once a month in his branch’s Aaronic Priesthood meetings, the young men report on any missionary experience they have had and then set up times to work with the full-time missionaries.
“Not long ago I went with the missionaries to teach a family who had already been taught the Joseph Smith story,” Patrick says. “The elders asked me to teach about Christ coming to the earth and establishing His Church. Preach My Gospel clearly illustrated everything and listed scriptures to back everything up. It was all outlined there.
“I knew about these things and had a testimony of them, but Preach My Gospel and going on exchanges with the missionaries has helped me teach these principles better,” Patrick says. “The doctrines outlined in the book have reinforced what I’ve learned at home and in Primary for as long as I can remember. And the things taught in Preach My Gospel invite the Spirit, which is the most important thing we can have when we’re talking about the Church.”

Cassie was the opposite of Denice. She never wanted to leave gymnastics. “You could put her in the gym at eight o’clock in the morning and come back for her at eight o’clock at night and she’d still be working hard,” says Robby. She loved the practice as much as competing—the thrill of nailing a move that only a handful of girls in the world could make.
But along the way Cassie had her own obstacles to overcome.
In December of ’89, Cassie was coming off a remarkable year. She had placed 13th in Canada her first year as a high performance senior (the highest class of amateur—Denice competes in the Open Class, 13- and 14-year-olds). But then, as she was performing a routine on bars, she slipped and tore ligaments in her back. For the next six months she was in pain, at first barely able to move. She rested, did all the right things, but Canadian nationals came and practice and competition were still painful.
She convinced her coaches and parents to let her compete anyway. The night before the meet, Cassie said a prayer that her back would be better. That morning, as she was warming up, her grandmother came up and said she had been fasting and praying for her, to help her through the competition.
“My back had hurt for all those months. It was hurting all the time. But at that moment it stopped.
“I’d always prayed before a competition, but that was the first time I realized Heavenly Father does answer our prayers, that he is there to help us get through the tough things in life.”
Although she missed most of the year due to her injury, she was able to place 13th again, one spot off the 12-person Canadian international traveling team.
From then on life and gymnastics were different. They meant even more. It was like the Lord was there, always, and it was through him that anything was possible.