Gospel Story Finder

Distractions can sometimes prevent us from experiencing God’s love in our family relationships and activities. A mother, feeling that gadgets were taking over her family relationships, came up with a solution. At the dinner table and at other family times, she just calls out, “Phones on the deck; let us have face time.” She says that this is the new norm for their family and that it strengthens their relationship as a family when they have real face time. They now enjoy quality Come, Follow Me discussions together as a family.

It wasn’t until 1975, after Bert and Amanda had returned to Hawaii, that Bert’s testimony of the living prophet was solidly confirmed. Bert had been asked to assist with security measures for President Spencer W. Kimball who was making a short visit to Bogota. Bert’s description of the experience is a moving testimony of the prophet’s influence:
“President Kimball shook my hand, and it felt like electricity going up my arm. He looked into my eyes, and that was it; I knew. We were together a good deal of the time, and it was the most wonderful experience.
“We had family home evening at the mission home, and I was the only one without my family. I sat right next to President Kimball, and he put his arm around me. Then we knelt down, and the mission president asked the President to give the family prayer. My whole life changed in those moments; I just knew he was a prophet. It was the full conversion.”
Meanwhile, Amanda recalls with a knowing smile, while Bert was with the President, “things weren’t going too well back home. I was in a car accident; I wasn’t hurt, but the car was damaged.”
“You have to understand,” adds Bert, “that I was a person who had to have everything neat and clean. You didn’t touch my car, because you might leave a fingerprint on it.”
Amanda says their two sons, “Duane and Doug, kept saying, ‘Oh, boy, wait until Dad comes home and sees the car.’ The day Bert arrived home, they wouldn’t even go to the airport with me to meet him, so I went by myself; there hadn’t been time to get the car fixed.”
But something had changed. “Bert came off that airplane, and I think he was walking above the ground. When he saw me, all he could talk about was what a great experience it was to be with the prophet. He went right past the damaged fender on the car and didn’t even see it.
“When we got home, the boys were peeking out from behind the drapes. Bert said, ‘Okay, when my boys are hiding, something’s happened.’ So I had to show him the damaged fender. He looked at it, turned to me, and said, ‘Oh, Mom, I’m really glad you didn’t get hurt.’ Then he gave me a big hug.”

A few months ago I had an opportunity to take a morning walk on a mountain trail with four of my grandchildren. We each brought a bag so we could collect treasures from nature. As we looked for pieces to put in our collections, we found many different colors, designs, and textures in the leaves and rocks. It was hard to choose. I soon noticed that the children’s bags were filling up. Each leaf the children selected was unique, but because it was late fall, most of the leaves had dark weathered spots, irregular shapes, or faded and discolored parts. Because of this, I was reluctant to add things to my bag. I was looking for a leaf that showed the brightest colors and had no flaws. If it wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t going to treasure it. But this meant that my bag had very little in it.

Later, as I thought about this experience, I realized that I had cheated myself of much delight and happiness that could have been mine. I didn’t appreciate the uniqueness of the objects because I was looking for what I had deemed perfection. My grandchildren had been wiser than I had been. They had savored the odd shapes and spots on the leaves. They giggled at and enjoyed the brittle crispness of the dying leaves, and they delighted in the soft, faded colors. They filled their bags with happy treasures to take home. We can fail to see and enjoy the unique happiness and beauty in each day if we are so focused on our desire for what we want instead of what the Lord has designed for us.

As Orson continued his search for deeper religious truths, the persuasive voice of Sidney Rigdon soon convinced him to join the Campbellite movement. The new sect’s belief in baptism by immersion for the remission of sins struck a responsive chord in the mind of young Hyde. At Sidney Rigdon’s invitation, Orson moved to Mentor, Ohio, to live with the Rigdon family, where he entered the Burton Academy and was ordained an elder in the Campbellite church. In the fall of 1829 he accompanied Sidney Rigdon on a mission throughout Ohio.
Orson’s beliefs in Campbellism were challenged in 1830 by a group of unusual young men who visited Kirtland. Among these were Oliver Cowdery, Peter Whitmer, Jr., and Parley P. Pratt. Their message concerned the coming forth of the Book of Mormon and the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Orson received the peculiar doctrine with mixed emotions. He resolved to read the famed “Golden Bible” (Book of Mormon), and after having read a portion of it, preached against it several times. After one such occasion, however, his opinions began to change. He recorded, “For the first time, I thought that the ‘Mormon’ bible might be the truth of heaven; and fully resolved before leaving the house, that I would never preach against it any more until I knew more about it, being pretty strongly convicted in my own mind that I was doing wrong.”1
As he reexamined the message of the Mormon elders, the rebuke of the Spirit caused Orson much unhappiness and deep remorse. The Prophet Joseph Smith was living in Kirtland, and Orson, eager to know the unusual man of whom he had heard so much, frequently attended meetings, public and private, at which the Prophet spoke about the new religion. He attended meetings at which he “heard the arguments pro and con, but was careful to say nothing.” In his autobiography he wrote:
“I marked carefully the spirit that attended the opposition, also the spirit that attended the Mormons and their friends, and after about three months of careful praying and investigation, reflection and meditation, I came to the conclusion that the Mormons had more light and a better spirit than their opponents.”2
Orson was baptized in the Chagrin River by his friend Elder Sidney Rigdon (who had converted to Mormonism), and was then confirmed and ordained an elder by Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon on the banks of the river. During the month of November, Orson enthusiastically accepted a call to serve a mission with the Prophet Joseph Smith’s older brother Hyrum. Soon after returning, he was called to serve a second mission to the eastern states, with the Prophet’s younger brother Samuel as his companion. They proselyted without purse or scrip, relying on the hospitality of those contacted for their food and lodging.

Our experiences in mortality are like the little boy and his father flying a kite on a windy day. As the kite rose higher, the winds caused it to tug on the connecting string in the little boy’s hand. Inexperienced with the force of mortal winds, he proposed to cut the string so the kite could rise higher. His wise father counseled no, explaining that the string is what holds the kite in place against mortal winds. If we lose our hold on the string, the kite will not rise higher. It will be carried about by these winds and inevitably crash to the earth.

Fourth, give your children the opportunity of having a joyful, happy childhood. The priesthood manual a few years ago quoted a story written in 1955 by Bryant S. Hinckley. It is as follows:
“‘Three hundred twenty-six school children of a district near Indianapolis were asked to write anonymously just what each thought of his father.
“‘The teacher hoped that the reading of the essays might attract the fathers to attend at least one meeting of the Parent-Teacher’s Association.
“‘It did.
“‘They came in $400 cars and $4,000 cars. Bank president, laborer, professional man, clerk, salesman, meter reader, farmer, utility magnate, merchant, baker, tailor, manufacturer, and contractor, every man with a definite estimate of himself in terms of money, skill, and righteousness. …
“‘The president picked at random from another stack of papers. “I like my daddy,” she read from each. The reasons were many: He built my doll house, took me coasting, taught me to shoot, helps me with my schoolwork, takes me to the park, gave me a pig to fatten and sell. Scores of essays could be reduced to “I like my daddy. He plays with me.”’
“Not one child mentioned his family house, car, neighborhood, food or clothing.
“The fathers went into the meeting from many walks of life. They came out in two classes: companions to their children or strangers to their children.
“No man is too rich or too poor to play with his children.” (The Savior the Priesthood and You, Melchizedek Priesthood Manual, 1973–74, p. 226.)

Every year, my husband and I and both our extended families go on a camping trip to celebrate the end-of-year holiday season. We choose a site that can accommodate our numbers and then camp from Christmas Eve until just after New Year’s Day.
These camps are a wonderful time for us to strengthen our family bonds. Because most of us are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, these camps also strengthen our testimony of Christ and of His Church as we celebrate His birth.
At the end of 2020, we found a site in Bikenibeu Village, Tarawa, which has a large mwaneaba (a traditional meetinghouse) that our whole family could sleep under. As always, my dear sister-in-law, Meteta, joined us in the camping festivities.
Meteta lived with my husband and me and, at 71 years old, she was more like a mother to us. She was still quite healthy and active, except that she walked on crutches as a result of a surgery she had 20 years earlier. Meteta loved our Christmas camping trips and eagerly participated in our family games and activities.
On the 31st of December, a few hours before our New Year’s celebration, Meteta was so excited. She took an early shower, got dressed and then sat down in the mwaneaba, ready to enjoy the night. Everyone else was rushing around, getting ready, too.
Then, in the midst of all the preparations, Meteta quietly said to me, "I have a burning pain in my chest." I dropped everything I was doing, called my husband and another sister-in-law over, and soon several of us were trying to help her.
It all happened so fast. About fifteen minutes later, Meteta started to gasp for air. My husband and son gave her a priesthood blessing while we waited for the ambulance. Sadly, the doctors couldn’t do much more for her. Soon after we arrived at the hospital, our Meteta was gone.
That evening, the world stopped for us. As we slowly made our way back to the campsite—to share the tragic news and inform everyone that we had to break camp—my husband and I reflected on Meteta’s final moments. The doctors had done their best to revive her, and those around us tried to give us hope, but we felt a strange kind of peace that told us it was Meteta’s time to go.
Our faith in Jesus Christ and our testimony of His gospel also helped the rest of our family accept what happened. We had just spent a week in both worldly and spiritual celebration, but as our holiday camp transitioned into a funeral, we tuned the world out completely.
We mourned the loss of our dear Meteta—she had been a great source of stability in our home, and we would have to make many adjustments without her—but in the wake of her passing, we talked more about the meaning of our own lives.
We focused on our Saviour and on His divine gift of exaltation. We expressed deep gratitude for His atoning sacrifice and His victory over the grave. It was a time of spiritual renewal for all of us. As we worked together to organise and prepare for Meteta’s earthly farewell, our thoughts were on Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation, and on His Son, who has made it possible for us to reunite with Meteta again, one day.
Our family holiday camps are always boisterous events, full of music and dance, talent shows, laughter and fun, but this particular Christmas, the happiness of our festivities seemed to dim in the light of true joy—the joy that our Saviour Jesus Christ brought when He was born into this world to give us life.
Our understanding of His gospel is what brought our family peace after Meteta’s passing. It helped us to remember the real meaning of Christmas.

The completion of the Kirtland Temple was foundational for the entire Church. It was accompanied by spiritual outpourings, doctrinal revelations, and restoration of essential keys for the continuing establishment of the Church. Like the ancient Apostles on the day of Pentecost, many members experienced marvelous spiritual experiences in connection with the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. But, as in our own lives, this did not mean they wouldn’t face challenges or hardships going forward. Little did these early members know they would be faced with a United States financial crisis—the panic of 1837—that would test their very souls.

One example of the challenges related to this financial crisis was experienced by Elder Parley P. Pratt, one of the great leaders of the Restoration. He was an original member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the early part of 1837, his dear wife, Thankful, died after delivering their first child. Parley and Thankful had been married almost 10 years, and her death devastated him.

A few months later, Elder Pratt found himself in one of the most difficult times the Church has experienced. In the midst of the national crisis, local economic issues—including land speculation and the struggles of a financial institution founded by Joseph Smith and other Church members—created discord and contention in Kirtland. Church leaders did not always make wise temporal decisions in their own lives. Parley suffered significant financial losses and for a time became disaffected with the Prophet Joseph. He wrote a stinging criticism to Joseph and spoke in opposition of him from the pulpit. At the same time, Parley said he continued to believe in the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.

Elder Pratt had lost his wife, his land, and his home. Parley, without telling Joseph, left for Missouri. On the road there, he unexpectedly met fellow Apostles Thomas B. Marsh and David Patten returning to Kirtland. They felt a great need to have harmony restored to the Quorum and persuaded Parley to return with them. He realized that no one had lost more than Joseph Smith and his family.

Parley sought out the Prophet, wept, and confessed that what he had done was wrong. In the months after his wife, Thankful’s, death, Parley had been “under a dark cloud” and had been overcome by fears and frustrations. Joseph, knowing what it was like to struggle against opposition and temptation, “frankly forgave” Parley, praying for him and blessing him. Parley and others who remained faithful benefited from the Kirtland challenges. They increased in wisdom and became more noble and virtuous. The experience became part of their foundations of faith.

Trevon Morris was among the first Pathway alumni and was the first to matriculate and complete a bachelor of science degree in computer science at the Brigham Young University-Idaho. This brave move has impacted his life tremendously. After completing the life skills course, Trevon said that he became debt free because he learned how to budget. Since enrolling in Pathway many years ago, his salary has increased, and he is now being considered for a promotion. Trevon said, “Pathway put me into BYU-I, where my skills have been enhanced tenfold . . . Life could not be better.” There are many others with similar success stories like Trevon and now everyone can have the same opportunity.

James Edward Talmage was 13 years old when his family emigrated from their native England and settled in Provo, Utah.
Intelligent and thirsty for knowledge, James was a part-time member of the faculty of the Brigham Young Academy in Provo, Utah, by the time he was 17. He went on to study chemistry and geology at Lehigh University in Pennsylvania and at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland. Membership in many prominent scientific societies gave James Talmage access to important people and publications and helped him combat much of the prejudice faced by Latter-day Saints at the time.
In 1888 he married Mary May Booth. They became the parents of eight children. From 1894 to 1897 he was president of the University of Deseret in Salt Lake City (now the University of Utah). During that time he bought one of the popular new chain-driven bicycles and rode it often. One evening he arrived home an hour late for dinner, bruised, bloodied, and dirty. Near his home was a single-plank bridge across a ditch. Normally, he dismounted and crossed on foot. But this time he felt he could ride across. He kept at it, crash after crash, until he mastered the maneuver.
Elder Talmage was an effective lecturer, and some of his talks and lessons became the basis of some of the books for which he is well-known, including The Articles of Faith. Prior to his call to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1911, the First Presidency had asked him to write a book on the life and ministry of the Savior. Later, a room was set aside in the Salt Lake Temple where Elder Talmage could concentrate on his writing. His 700-page book, Jesus the Christ, was published in 1915 and has been reprinted several times since then.

One summer evening my parents and I swung in the squeaky glider on the front porch and fanned ourselves with the evening’s Register-Mail. We were hopefully searching the twilit skies for a thundercloud, but only heat lightning appeared to lick the sky.
A train clattered by on the tracks across the road, then tooted as it passed the State Street intersection. Daddy pulled out his pocket watch and remarked, “Mail train’s right on time.” Then he continued, “Dulcy, you ought to get to sleep a little earlier tonight. The circus train starts unloading at five o’clock in the morning.”
I knew he was right but I hated to miss the nightly game of hide-and-seek with my friends, the Shane kids, who were just coming up the walk.
“Dulcy, can you play?” Emmalou called. “Walter said he’d be it.“
“Not tonight, I have to go to bed early.”
They drifted away as Mama said, “Dulcy, before you go upstairs, there’s something Daddy and I would like to tell you.”
We got up, brushed june bugs off the screen door, and went inside to sit down by the dining room table. Mama fidgeted with the bowl of zinnias in the center of the table. “We received a letter from my cousin Martha today. She’s sick and needs someone to look after her boy. He’s coming tonight,” she said.
“Oh boy!” I exclaimed. “Someone new to play with. Will he stay all summer?”
“No, just for a few days. His grandma is driving up from Missouri. He’ll spend the summer with her.”
“How old is he?”
“About your age, maybe a little younger,” Daddy put in.
“Dulcy, I want you to show him kindness and understanding while he’s here,” Mama continued. “He’s not had much.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Now brush your teeth and go to bed.”
Upstairs I decided to count to a million by fives, determined not to go to sleep until the boy arrived. But I never made it past one hundred and fifty.
It seemed only moments later when my Mickey Mouse alarm clock rang. And even before I opened my eyes, I knew something in the room had changed. My white china dogs still marched on their shelves; the dolls and stuffed animals still sat in their corners. What was different? Then, from deep within a heavy comforter over the daybed, came a muffled sound.
“Is that you Clipper?” I said, wondering if my dog would emerge. “You’ll get fleas on Grandma’s quilt.”
The comforter was tugged downward to reveal the largest dark eyes I’d ever seen. “Good morning.” I said. “My name’s Dulcy. What’s yours?”
“Jebediah E. Banks,” came the answer.
“That’s a big name for a little boy like you.”
“It was my Granddaddy’s, and I reckon I’ll grow into it.”
“Till you do, I’ll just call you Jeb. Do you want to see the circus train unload?”
We sat side by side on the window seat while, across the road on the spur track from Peoria, the spectacle began. Work lights cast a yellow pall on the scene and threw long, grotesque shadows upward into the nearby trees. Men dressed in overalls worked swiftly, lifting machinery, tying off ropes, and transferring the calliope to a waiting truck. Animal handlers in knee-high boots helped maneuver red and gold cages off the flatcars with only an occasional snarl of protest from within. In their slow, plodding manner, the elephants carried poles and timber in their trunks without a sound or gesture from anyone.
I cast a glance at Jeb.
“Is it real?” he whispered.
“Of course it is,” I replied.
He turned to stare at me questioningly. “But the elephants,” he said, “they’re yellow.”
“They just look that way on account of the lights.”
When the train was completely unloaded, we climbed back into our beds. I lay staring at the ceiling, puzzled about Jeb. How can a boy of seven or eight not know what’s real and what isn’t? I wondered. After breakfast, I’ll have to teach him the difference.
That morning Jeb and I sat on the porch steps while I figured out what to do. But Mama already had plans. She came out and handed me a brown paper sack. “You and Jeb take these string beans down to Grandma so she can cook them for supper. Hurry along now.”
Our bare feet slapped on the hot sidewalk as we hurried the two blocks to Grandma’s house. “Grandma,” I called as we went in the back door. Then I saw the note on the kitchen table.
“DULCY,” it read, “HAVE GONE TO STORE. HAVE SOME COOKIES.”
I pulled out the brown stone cookie jar and we selected two ginger drops each. As we sat at the table and made the cookies last as long as possible by eating around the edges, I said, “Jeb, I’m going to show you the difference between what’s real and what isn’t. I’ll show you make believe first.” Then I went to the pantry.
I carried about a dozen bottles and cans of different kinds to the table. I arranged them with the tallest in the middle, flanked by the next tallest on either side, then the next in height, until the shortest bottles stood at the ends on each side.
This is a pretend game I made up,” I explained. “You’re going to be the only other person in the whole world to know about it.” His dark eyes brightened slightly.
“This is my Sunday School class,” I began. Then I introduced him to the containers that were pretend pupils, each with a name and with a part to give as they stepped out of line to say their pieces, the way my real class does for the special Mother’s Day program every year. For the grand finale, the Sunday School-bottle class sang, “Mother, I Love You” before they were dismissed. Naturally, I said all the pieces and sang the song; and the bottle named Dulcy knew her pieces best and the one named Walter forgot his.
“Now it’s your turn,” I told Jeb.
He traced the design on Grandma’s tablecloth before he said, “I don’t know how.”
“Just try,” I pleaded.
“No, I can’t do it,” he insisted.
“Then let’s go home,” I snapped as I put the bottles away.
Later, we sat under the pear tree in my backyard.
“Are you mad at me?” Jeb asked.
“No.” But I didn’t sound much like I meant it.
Moments later I turned to look at him and found him staring straight up into the tree. “What in the world are you looking at?” I asked, giving him a nudge.
Slowly, very slowly, he said, “There’s a yellow elephant sitting right up there.” He pointed to the highest branch.
I looked up before I realized what had happened. “Jeb!” I squealed. “You’ve learned how to pretend!”
We climbed as high as we dared and stayed in the tree the rest of the day. Mama sent our lunch up to us on a rope pulley and in the afternoon brought out a sack of fresh sugar cookies.
The next day we climbed back into the pear tree after breakfast. In the late afternoon it began to rain and Mama called us inside. We cut through the garden as Jeb said, “Tomorrow, let’s get up earlier and play with my elephant.”
“Tomorrow your grandma is coming and you have to go to Missouri.”
“I can’t go.” He stopped by a neat row of calendulas. “I can’t leave my elephant.”
“Don’t be silly,” I told him, looking up into the rain so it would pepper my face. “There isn’t any elephant in the pear tree.”
He pulled back his arm and doubled up his fist as though he were going to hit me, but I managed to get out of the way. Mama appeared before we had time to do any damage to each other. “Dulcy,” she shouted, grabbing me by my collar. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, picking on a child so much smaller.” Jeb slipped away from her and climbed back into the pear tree. “I’m going to call your father,” Mama said, looking at me. She turned toward the house, but I headed for the pear tree.
“Come on down, Jeb,” I said.
“No!” he declared, sobbing. “I’m never coming down. I’m going to stay with my elephant forever. He’s the only one in the world who loves me.”
And right there I should have told him. I should have said, “I love you, too, Jeb.” But I didn’t because I was only ten, and was still smarting from our verbal battle.
“Well then, why don’t you take your stupid elephant and go join the circus?” I shouted, and turned and ran through the downpour into the house.
Soon Daddy came home and gently coaxed Jeb out of the tree. Mama spooned hot potato soup into him and put him to bed. The next morning I awoke early to a dully, gray dawn, heavy with moisture. Jeb’s bed was vacant. I hurried down the hall and shook Mama.
“Has Jeb gone to Missouri already?”
Her eyes widened in alarm and together we ran to my room. His pajamas were neatly folded on the quilt, the only evidence that he’d ever been there. We woke Daddy and the search began.
Thinking of the pear tree first, we went outside, using Daddy’s flashlight to cast a beam into the mother of pearl mist hanging on the branches. The tree was strangely empty, emptier than yesterday, and I had the craziest feeling that Jeb really had taken his elephant with him.
Then I remembered what I’d said to him. I told my folks that Jeb liked the circus a lot, so we headed for the fairgrounds.
Daddy and the manager organized a search. While acrobats in robes of scarlet scoured the main tent, a family of midgets hurried to the clown’s wagon. The bearded lady kept Mama and me company, reassuring us this had happened a thousand times before, and they knew just where to look for a runaway boy.
The sun broke through the overcast and I managed to slip away to find the elephants.
They were staked near some scrub oaks, and I found Jeb sitting in the shade nearby. When he saw me, he said, “They’re not yellow, Dulcy. Only mine is yellow.”
On the way home all I managed to say was, “I’m glad you found your elephant, Jeb.” I wanted to say more but the time for that had passed.
The moment we turned onto Second Street, we saw the old Packard coupe with the Missouri license plate parked in front of our house. As we pulled into the driveway a lumpy, middle-aged woman with set lines on her face hurried out of Mrs. Adams’s house next door. I knew she must be Jeb’s grandma.
Within moments she had taken him by the hand and walked to the Packard. Jeb paused with one foot on the running board, shook his hand free, and turned around. He stared at me with those sad brown eyes for one long moment, but without any sign of farewell or that he’d ever known us. Then he turned and climbed into the car and they chuffed up the street, turned onto Pearl, and disappeared.
I hope he took his elephant. It’s all I had to give him.

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, as she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry if I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.”
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race of life. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

I have related before my experience with a friend who took me to his ranch. He unlocked the door of a large new automobile, slid behind the wheel, and said proudly, “How do you like my new car?” We rode in luxurious comfort into the rural areas to a beautiful new landscaped home, and he said with no little pride, “This is my home.”

He drove to a grassy hill. The sun was setting behind the distant hills. He surveyed his vast domain. Pointing to the north, he asked, “Do you see that clump of trees over there?” I could plainly discern them in the fading day.

He pointed to the east. “Do you see the lake shimmering in the sunset?” It too was visible.

“Now, the bluff that’s on the south.” We turned about to scan the distance. He identified barns, silos, the ranch house to the west. With a wide sweeping gesture, he boasted, “From the clump of trees, to the lake, to the bluff, and to the ranch buildings and all between—all this is mine. And the dark specks in the meadow—those cattle also are mine.”

And then I asked from whom he obtained it. The chain of ownership of his property went back to land given by governments. His attorney had assured him he had an unencumbered title.

“From whom did the government get it?” I asked. “What was paid for it?” There came into my mind the declaration of the Psalmist, boldly restated by Paul: “The earth is the Lord’s and the fulness thereof” (1 Cor. 10:26).

And then I asked, “Did ownership come from God, Creator of the earth and the owner thereof? Did he get paid? Was it sold or leased or given to you? If a gift, from whom? If a sale, with what exchange or currency? If a lease, do you make proper accounting?”

And then I asked, “What was the price? With what treasures did you buy this farm?”

“Money!”

Where did you get the money?”

“From my toil, my sweat, my labor, and my strength.”

And then I asked, “Where did you get your strength to toil, your power to labor, your glands to sweat?”

He spoke of food.

“Where did the food originate?”

“From sun and atmosphere and soil and water.”

“And who brought those elements here?”

I quoted the Psalmist:

“Thou, O God, didst send a plentiful rain, whereby thou didst confirm thine inheritance, when it was weary” (Ps. 68:9).

“If the land is not yours, then what accounting do you make to your landlord for his bounties? The scripture says: ‘Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God that which is God’s’ (see Matt. 22:21). What percentage of your increase do you pay Caesar? And what percent to God?

“Do you believe the Bible? Do you accept the command of the Lord through the prophet Malachi? Do you believe Moses’ words to Pharaoh that the earth is the Lord’s?” (Ex. 9:29).

I said again: “I seem to find no place in holy writ where God has said, ‘I give you ownership of this land unconditionally.’

“I cannot find such scripture, but I do find this from Psalms:

‘Those that wait upon the Lord, … shall inherit the earth’ (Ps. 37:9).

“And I remember that our Creator covenanted in the council in heaven with us all: ‘[And] we will go down, for there is space there, and we will take of these materials, and we will make an earth whereon these may dwell’ (Abr. 3:24).

“It seems more like a lease on which a rental is exacted than like a simple ownership.

“This does not seem to convey the earth but only the use and contents which are given to men on condition that they live all of the commandments of God.”

But my friend continued to mumble, “Mine—mine,” as if to convince himself against the surer knowledge that he was at best a recreant renter.

That was long years ago. I later saw him lying in his death among luxurious furnishings in a palatial home. His had been a vast estate. And I closed his eyes. I spoke at his funeral, and I followed the cortege from the good piece of earth he had claimed to his grave, a tiny, oblong area the length of a tall man, the width of a heavy one.

Later I saw that same estate, yellow in grain, green in lucerne, white in cotton, seemingly unmindful of him who had claimed it.

In May, prior to her entering the Miss Utah Pageant contest, Sally found time to enjoy a two-week foreign language tour in Mexico.
There an older Mexican friend, charmed by the stunning blonde with an Acapulco tan, exclaimed, “You seem so happy all of the time. How can I be as happy as you?” Sally answered him without hesitation, “I am happy because I know that I am a daughter of God. And you are my brother. You can be happy too if you will become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Katie raised her hand. She had a very good question. Feeling OK to stray from the flow of the lesson, the teacher directed the class to a scripture that would help with an answer. Another hand rose with another question. Again, we turned the pages of the Book of Mormon for help with the answer. After the third time in this process, Katie raised her hand again. Almost before the teacher could call on her, she blurted out, “How do you know your scriptures so well? How can you find all that?”
The teacher thought for a moment. He said he was nothing special. He didn’t have a photographic memory, or even a very good one. And then he answered with another scripture: “By small and simple means are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6). The teacher testified that he read his scriptures often. He read them daily. And years of daily scripture study add up.

My parents have always taught me to dress modestly. My best friend, who is not a member of the Church, gave me a sundress with thin spaghetti straps. I graciously thanked my friend, but I didn’t know what I should do. It was a very cute dress, and I wanted to be able to wear it. I talked to my mom about what I should do. Then I remembered that my Aunt Emily sometimes wears sundresses, but wears a T-shirt underneath to be modest. I am grateful for the example my aunt sets for me, and for my parents who teach me how to dress modestly so I can be ready to go to the temple someday. I’m glad I came up with a modest solution so that I can wear my cute new dress!

Melissa’s parents are divorced. On the weekends that she spends with her father, she attends church with him. But when she stays with her mother, she is not allowed to go. Melissa was given a part in the Children’s Sacrament Meeting Presentation, but the presentation was scheduled for a weekend when she would be staying with her mother. Melissa was disappointed, because she wanted to participate. She prayed every night that her mother would allow her to go to church. On the day of the presentation, Melissa found the courage to tell her mother how important going to church was to her and to ask her mother for permission to attend and participate in the presentation. Her mother said yes! When Melissa stood at the pulpit, tears ran down her face as she told of her gratitude to Heavenly Father for answering her prayers and giving her the courage to choose the right.

When Josiah heard about the tornado, he was scared. He kept thinking about pictures he’d seen—pictures of the tornado and pictures of all the damage it caused. In one picture, Josiah saw a little girl in pink rubber boots. She looked about his age and was standing on a heap of rubble that used to be her home. What would happen to her? To all the people who lost their homes?
“You look so sleepy,” Mom said the next morning. “Are you feeling OK?”
Josiah shrugged.
Mom felt his face. “No fever. Should we see how you feel at breakfast? Dad’s making pancakes.”
In the kitchen, Dad stood next to the stove, flipping pancakes. He kept glancing at his phone.
“Lots of damage from the tornado,” he said. “Thousands still don’t have power.”
“I hope they get it back soon,” Mom said. She and Dad kept talking about the tornado. Josiah sat down at the table. He put his head in his hands.
“You OK, bud?” Dad asked.
Josiah looked up. “I’m scared,” he said. “Are we gonna have a tornado? I don’t want our house to blow away.” He started to cry.
Mom sat down and put her arm around Josiah.
“We don’t know if something scary will happen to us, but we can trust Heavenly Father to help us no matter what happens.”
“But what about all those people in the tornado?” Josiah said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father help them?”
“Heavenly Father is helping them,” Dad said. He put a big stack of pancakes on the table. “He won’t stop all bad things from happening, but Heavenly Father always helps His children.”
“How?” Josiah said.
“Well, sometimes He sends little miracles, or helps people feel comfort, or inspires other people to help out.”
Mom nodded. “A lot of times, Heavenly Father helps other people through us.”
“Remember when the Johnsons had a fire and we invited them to stay with us? You shared your room,” Dad said.
“And you played with the baby so we could help them rebuild their house,” Mom added. “That was a big help. Now the Johnsons are back in their home.”
Josiah smiled. He liked helping the Johnsons. Was that Heavenly Father helping through him?
“And then there was that spaghetti dinner to raise money for the people in the earthquake,” Dad said.
“I helped sweep the floor,” said Josiah.
“Yes, you did,” Dad said.
“What about the people near the tornado?” asked Josiah. “Can we help them?”
“I think Heavenly Father is inspiring you to help. What do you think we could do?” asked Mom.
“Would my birthday money help?” asked Josiah. “I still have it.”
“Yes, it would,” said Mom. “Dad and I have some money we can send too.”
Josiah looked at the pancakes. They looked yummy. “Can I say the prayer?”
“You sure can,” Dad said.
Josiah bowed his head. He thanked Heavenly Father for their food and for always helping His children. Then Josiah prayed for the people hurt by the tornado. He asked to know more ways he and his family could help.
Afterward, Josiah took a big bite of pancakes. There were lots of ways to help! And Josiah felt much better.

Sixty-four years ago this September, I returned home from my mission in England. Three days after returning, I attended a Hello Day dance at the University of Utah with a friend of mine. He told me about a beautiful sophomore named Barbara Bowen, whom he thought I ought to meet. He brought her over and introduced us, and we started to dance.
Unfortunately, this was what we used to call a “tag dance,” which meant that you got to dance with the girl only until somebody else tagged you out. Barbara was vivacious and popular, so I got to dance with her for less than a minute before another young man tagged me out.
That was just not acceptable to me. Having learned the importance of follow-up on my mission, I got her telephone number and called her the very next day to ask her out, but she was busy with school and social commitments. Thankfully, my mission taught me to be persistent even in the face of discouragement, and I was eventually able to make a date. And that date led to others. Somehow during those dates I was able to convince her that I was the only true and living returned missionary—at least as far as she should be concerned. Now, 64 years later, there are seven children and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren who stand as evidence of the significant truth that no matter how good your message is, you may not get a chance to deliver it without consistent, persistent follow-up.

When I was just a small boy, my mother was elected to be the treasurer of Rich County. She had no babysitter, so I often spent time in her office. The office had a huge walk-in vault that had been out of use for many years. One day while playing in the office, I learned how to open the vault. I mentioned to my mother that I had operated the vault. She didn’t give my achievement much thought.
Years later, my younger brother and his friend accompanied mother to the office as I had years before. In the course of the day, the two little boys locked themselves in the vault. My mother discovered the accident but could not open the vault. Soon, men with cutting torches, drills, and the other equipment were trying to open the vault in which the two little boys were entrapped. It was airtight, with only enough oxygen to last the two boys for a couple of hours. The vault stood up for its designed purpose to resist any kind of forced entry. It was impenetrable. In desperation, mom went into another room to kneel in prayer. During her prayer the brief incident of years ago when I mentioned I knew how to open the vault came into her mind. She quickly ran out of the building and up to my school to find me.
We both ran back to the county building, making our way through the many observers and uniformed rescuers to the vault. We prayed to remember the combination, which came back to me to allow me to open the door. All the workers clapped their hands when the huge vault door finally came open.
I know that my mother’s ability to remember that brief incident which happened many years previously, came from God. I know that He helped me remember the combination to the locked safe.