Gospel Story Finder

There are times in our marriage that require a stellar dose of patience.
On our 25th wedding anniversary, Kathy and I were in Philadelphia speaking to missionaries. I received a call from President Boyd K. Packer of the Twelve. At the end of our conversation, I commented, “President Packer, today is our 25th wedding anniversary. Don’t you think that is a great accomplishment?” Without pausing, he responded, “It is for Kathy!” With your hope and faith in Christ, allow the Lord to expand your spiritual gifts of understanding and patience.

Life sent me a hurricane of sorrow in December 2016. Our oldest grandchild, Derek, stopped breathing, and his parents rushed him to the hospital. With a measure of confidence, I asked Heavenly Father to bless little Derek. As I was praying, the Spirit gently impressed on my mind, “Little Derek has returned home to heaven.”
Photograph courtesy of Cordon family
Wait, what? Despite my reeling shock, an instant “peace of God” (Philippians 4:7) came to my heart and mind.
The week after Derek’s passing, I was scheduled to do ministering visits at a children’s hospital. I felt overwhelmed and didn’t think I could walk back into those medical sights, sounds, and smells. But as I checked in, a sweet peace came over me. The Lord knew my willingness even though I was hurting, and He orchestrated an extra dose of love for me. I was guided to visit a young child fighting cancer. He had written on his whiteboard: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5).
To this day, that scripture is a reminder that Heavenly Father knows and loves me. I still have a hole in my heart for Derek—and will until I see him again. But until then, I gain solace in the Lord and keep moving forward.

A woman was referred to my office for a blessing for the restoration of her health. She had been ill for seven years. She had had exploratory surgery three times, had been in the hospital a number of times, and had switched doctors more often than annually. And I declined to give her a blessing when the Spirit said there was nothing wrong physically. Brothers and sisters, you can imagine what an awkward position I found myself in, having to say no.

She said, “What do you mean?”
As we talked, she mentioned that several years earlier, during a very difficult time in life, her husband had not given her the attention that she needed, and he was sitting next to her. She had not been pleased with his behavior and had carried with her a scarred heart, emotions that had been disrupted and confused, and she was bitter. I asked, “When did this happen?”
She said, “Seven years ago. Now wait just a minute, Elder Pinnock. You don’t mean to tell me that I have been sick for seven years because I can’t forgive my husband.” And there he sat.
I said, “I would be happy to give you a blessing for what is wrong.”
Well, she was there; the moment was awkward. She said, “All right, go ahead.”
I placed my hands upon her head and gave her a blessing that she could love and forgive, at that time not sure if it was her husband, but it seemed to be. As we walked the few steps to my door, I pointed to the door and said, “That door will always be open to you.” And in a huff and with some discomfort, she left.

About ten days later the telephone rang. “Is that offer still good to come and see you?”
I said, “Yes.”
She came in, “Do you mean to tell me that the reason I’ve been sick for so many years is because I can’t forgive my husband for the way he treated me seven or eight years ago?”
I said, “Yes. I have thought a great deal about it since then, and I believe that is your problem.” We talked for almost an hour. As she stood up to leave, I pointed to the door again and said, “The door is always open.”
The phone rang several weeks later. “May I come and talk to you, Elder Pinnock?”
I said, “Certainly.”
She walked in a changed woman. She didn’t even look the same. She said, “I haven’t felt this good for years. I can’t remember having ever felt as good as I feel now, and I love my husband so much.” Well, think about it, think about it, think about it.

On Sunday, March 29, we fasted for peace in the world and healing from COVID-19. This was my first time fasting for 24 hours, and it was hard. I was hungry, but my mom told me to remember the reason we were fasting and that God will hear my prayers and accept my fasting. I grabbed my Book of Mormon and started reading. It brought me peace and filled me spiritually. God lives, and Jesus Christ loves us.
Yaretzi L., age 10, California, USA

Some gifts Si has received were not altogether welcome at first. One day in 1977 a young man named Duane Simpson walked into Si’s hospital room, turned off the television set, and demanded, “What are you doing with your life, Si? Why are you wasting your time watching television? There’s nothing wrong with your brain—Why aren’t you using it?”
Si was amazed. His mother was very angry. But Duane continued, “Si, I’m here to help you any way I can.” He explained that he had been assigned to Si as a tutor.
Beginning then, Si’s life changed dramatically. “I guess I needed Duane to help me change my attitude. I wasn’t doing anything because I never really thought there was anything I could do.”
Since then Si has worked toward completing his high school education. He now aims to enroll in a university and obtain a degree in social work.
How does someone in his condition study? He listens to cassette tapes and his tutor. The tutor then reads him the questions. Si gives the answers “orally”. But because Si cannot make any sounds, his tutor has to read his lips, write down the answers, and send them to the correspondence school to be graded. It is a slow, tedious way to study, but Si jokes, “I’m getting better marks than I ever did before.”

One time my teacher was saying a word that my parents told me not to say. I prayed and talked with my parents so that I would have enough courage to tell her that I didn’t like her using that word. Finally, after several days of praying and talking with my parents, I gained the strength to tell my teacher what I thought. It worked! I did not hear her say that word for the rest of the year. I know it was the right thing to do.

The youth of the Provo 26th Ward, Provo Utah Grandview Stake, attended a rather unusual youth conference. Starting on Thursday afternoon, the group went to a lodge in a nearby canyon where they had an enjoyable time learning about some of their purposes in life.
The first evening was spent in settling in and discovering that the conference would include activities that reenacted some of the learning experiences of life. After talking about the premortal existence, a member of the bishopric who is a geology professor presented a slide show on the creation of the world. The following morning, each participant was blindfolded and brought down to breakfast, symbolizing birth and entering mortality. After a few games reminiscent of childhood, each person received a mission call. They attended classes on practical skills such as sewing on buttons and car repair, and special classes on learning a door approach and gospel message to deliver. They ended the morning in a cooking class, where they prepared their own lunches.
The afternoon was spent in sessions about dating and etiquette, including role playing and a dating game. This was followed by a class on career planning. A list of chores that needed to be done around the lodge was posted with a monetary value attached to each. The youth jumped into the chores with vigor and were paid in play money. After learning about banking and paying tithing on their earnings, the youth attended a nice dinner, using their best manners, and paid for their meals with the play money they had earned.
The evening concluded with a talk by the stake president on death and the life hereafter. It was followed by a testimony meeting.
After a breakfast cooked by the bishopric, the youth cleaned up the area and returned home still talking about the things they had learned.

Why did I suddenly decide to be baptized? Because I realized the night of the sixth lesson that a burning bush was not the right thing to look for. I realized that by looking for a burning bush I was missing something just as important. Perhaps the answer lay in the simple things that had been happening to me.
I thought back to the week before we had decided to be baptized. We had once again arrived late to Church. To dispel the awkwardness of the situation, a very young man, Eddie Markle, had welcomed us with a simple handshake. At that moment I sensed in him a faith so strong that I was deeply impressed. It was the kind of faith spoken of by Jesus to Thomas: “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29.) I decided I wanted that kind of faith.
I realized my previous experiences had impressed me in a similar way, but, because of my desire for a miraculous conversion, I had failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. My encounters with members of the Church had not been spectacular, but yet they had been very significant.
Each person had—in his own way—displayed a strong yet simple faith: Dick Reisner had planted the seed; Dennis Hill had sent the book; the missionaries had knocked on my door; President Pressler had waited for us that first Sunday; Elder Richards had delivered an inspiring message; Eddie Markle had eased an awkward moment with a handshake. Each person—through his example—had let the powerful light of his testimony shine forth. And to me, having been in darkness, each example was as “the bright shining of a candle” (Luke 11:36), bringing me to a testimony of the truth.

“Hey cuz, you still shootin’ for that celestial kingdom you told me about?” my cousin asked.
Her unexpected question took me off guard. I stammered for a moment, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then I remembered. Last summer, during our visit to California, my cousin and I had been talking late at night, as was our habit, when the subject of the Church had come up. My cousin is a nonmember and knows very little about our church, so when she asked me to tell her about it, I gladly agreed. I told her what I could: the Joseph Smith story, our beliefs, my dreams, and my fears—including my goal of reaching the celestial kingdom. I bore my testimony to her, and told her I knew the gospel was true. I told her how I wanted to live forever with at chosen mate, and to have my family with me. She listened carefully and asked me a lot of questions which I answered as best I could. We went to sleep that night, her wondering and me feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Now seven months later, I was amazed that she remembered what I had told her.
“Well?” She was looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
I swallowed hard and stared out my window at the falling snow, watching each individual snowflake merge with millions of others. If only life were that simple.
“Am I still reaching for it?” I asked myself. I thought back over the last few months and knew I hadn’t been trying very hard. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, my grades weren’t as high as they should have been, my best friend wasn’t my best friend anymore, family relationships were strained, and most important of all, I was gradually pulling away from the Church. As I sat there, I took a new look at my life and realized how empty it had been. I turned and looked at my cousin and said quietly but firmly, with my eyes full of tears, “Yes, I am.”
Oh how thankful I am to have a Father in Heaven who loves me enough to remind me of my goals. With his help I can reach the celestial kingdom. And when I doubt myself, I just remember those three words, “Yes, I am,” and I know that my Father in Heaven is with me.

I was on the bus on my way home from school on a very windy day. My bus driver got to the stop where my neighbor and I get off. Our driver had a feeling that we shouldn’t get off, so she pulled to the side of the road and told us to stay on. As my neighbor and I were waiting for her to open the doors, we saw a flash of light and heard a big crash. We looked out the windows and saw our other neighbor’s big tree fall over onto a power pole, and the pole fell across the road right in front of the bus. It was in the exact spot where we would have crossed the road. If our bus driver had let us off, we would have been roadkill. I was really grateful for the Holy Ghost that day and that He inspires people.

My husband and I learned an important lesson while we were in the mission field about the blessing of being able to hear and the concern when you can’t hear.
Because Heber’s station in the Navy was right next to two huge artillery guns that were fired frequently—and not having ear protection in those days—his hearing began to deteriorate. This deterioration has accelerated over the years. Today—without the benefit of hearing aids with a large amplifier over each ear—he is almost totally deaf. My niece asked me how I whisper sweet things to him at the end of the day when he has removed his hearing aids. I tell her I shout, “I love you,” and he can read my lips. I believe there are many times our Father in Heaven might be shouting to us along our journey as well, saying “I love you,” but because of all the road noise, the loud music and the distractions to our mind, the message can’t get through.
During our mission we had an unusual experience while on our way to a zone conference. While traveling in an unfamiliar heavily-wooded area, both of the batteries in Heber’s hearing aids died at the same time. That had never happened before. I could speak to him but he could not hear me. He could speak to me but there was no two-way conversation. Can you imagine what an anxious feeling of isolation that was? What if we could never talk to each other or hear each other and be in communication with each other again. Tears filled my eyes as I prayed. Fortunately, as we drove in silence through the wooded area, we spotted a small convenience store. There we were able to get new batteries, and open up our line of communication again.

In closing, I would like to give you a parable. There was a certain man who, desiring to enjoy the beauties of nature, betook himself for a woodland stroll by the side of a clear, flowing river. As he contemplated the magnificence of God’s handiwork, he neglected to observe the uneven path where tree roots straggled down to the water’s edge. He stumbled and fell headlong into the river. The water was deeper than he had thought, and he could not swim! He cried out, but who would hear, as the water engulfed him in darkness? He surfaced and tried to shout again, his hopes bedimmed, and a second time he sank. His call was weaker as he rose for the last time, and who would hear him now? But someone else was walking nearby and heard the man’s cries, dived in, saved him, and brought him safely to the bank. When the man recovered, he looked up into the face of the one who had saved him and said, “Oh, thank you, thank you for saving me. What can I do to show my love and appreciation?”

The one who had saved him smiled and said: “There are many things you can do for me,” and then he taught him lovingly and carefully. Then a sad thing happened. Although the man who had been saved lived, the man who saved him died as a result of the experience. Despite his sorrow, the one saved had a warm feeling within him, for he knew what to do to show his love and gratitude for his savior.

So it is with us, for our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, died that we might live. We know what we should do, for he has told us: “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).

Somewhat related to this law are three minor laws I learned about when I was required to begin military service midway through law school. When I arrived in Vietnam on August 15, 1969, I was assigned to the army’s First Infantry Division. Because it was too dangerous to travel on the ground, I was told to get in a helicopter.

The helicopter was what they called a Huey. A Huey had eight campstool-like canvas seats for passengers like myself. Four of the seats faced forward, and two on each side faced out to the sides. These Hueys had a machine gun mounted on each side. The side doors, like doors on a van, were pulled all the way back so the machine gunners could operate their guns if needed.

I took my place on one of the side seats, facing out to the side with a completely clear and open view because the side door had been pulled all the way back. I took my seat with my M-16 automatic rifle in one hand and my steel helmet in the other arm, looking forward to my first ride in a Huey helicopter. In a great roar of its engine and the rush of wind from its rotor blades, the chopper lifted off, rising straight in the air for about 200 feet. Then, as it prepared to turn in the direction of where it was taking me, it leaned over, or banked steeply, to my side, so that I was looking almost straight down out of my open door.

At that moment I realized (1) that I had forgotten to fasten my seat belt and (2) that both my hands were full of important things that I did not want to drop out of the helicopter: my rifle and my helmet. Then realization number three happened. I started to slide out of my seat and drop out of the turning helicopter.

What happened next? Just before I fell from the helicopter, my feet discovered that each of these little seats had two little, straight, aluminum legs. My left foot found one of these, and I wrapped my boot tightly around it just as I was about to fall, and I managed to hold on until the helicopter straightened out. You will probably not be surprised to learn that I now always fasten my seat belt when I drive.

And it was on this occasion that I learned some new things about the law of unintended consequences, about Murphy’s Law (if anything can go wrong, it will), and about the law of gravity.

Sandra was a student in my advanced English class. Several weeks into the year, she hadn’t done any of the homework or projects. She just daydreamed at her desk. She made up excuses for why she hadn’t completed her assignments, and she demonstrated neither the attitude nor the work necessary for success in such a demanding course.
Her counselor and I decided to schedule a conference with Sandra, her father, and some of her other teachers to determine what direction she should take: should she drop her advanced courses and take standard ones instead? Most substantial was the unspoken question weighing on all of our minds: could we find a way to help Sandra succeed?
Believing that Sandra had been given many chances to succeed but instead had chosen to fail, I went into the meeting feeling very discouraged. Secretly I hoped she would decide to drop my class so that I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. I felt I had done all I could and that it was already too late.
In the meeting, Sandra’s body language revealed that she too doubted her ability to succeed. She stared at the table as I recounted her failure in English class. As her history teacher confirmed that Sandra was failing his class as well, her body slumped lower in her chair and I could see tears streaming down her face.
Mustering compassion, I explained to her and her father that if Sandra wanted to succeed in these challenging courses, she was going to have to change the behavior that had gotten her so deeply into this hole and that it was going to be very difficult.
The counselor then turned to Sandra’s father, a man with little education who seemed uncomfortable in the school setting. The counselor asked him if he had any questions for the teachers. He said he didn’t and thanked us for what we had done for Sandra. But then he said he had something to say to his daughter.
My heart tightened. I had been a part of some parent-teacher conferences where the parents had verbally rebuked their children in front of teachers and counselors, berating them for their laziness, inattentiveness, and lack of motivation. I braced myself to hear it again.
What I heard instead surprised me. Sandra’s humble father turned to his tearful 16-year-old daughter who was weighed down by shame and regret and said to her, “It’s not too late. It’s not too late for you to succeed. It really is not too late.”
I left that meeting grateful for his loving reaction but concerned that he had no idea what it would take for his daughter to pass at this point. It seemed impossible. Word came later that she had decided to drop her history class but not my English class.
Sandra, with motivation to start again, made slow but significant changes. The transformation was not easy—it required daily effort to overcome her bad habits—but she saw the rewards of her efforts as her grade gradually improved.

I still remember one particular afternoon as if it were yesterday. I sat down next to a smiling lady during our Sunday meetings, which at that time were held both in the morning and the afternoon. I took her hand to make sure she would stay with me. But I was only six years old, and I was quite tired. My eyelids began to close, and though I struggled hard to keep hold of that warm hand, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the hand was no longer there. Tears ran down my small face, and my heart was sad.
Her name was Sister Avon Compton. She and her husband, Merlin, were always smiling, and their faces reflected love. When I close my eyes today, I can still see them clearly. I often tell my Primary class about them. Their story is the best way I know to teach my CTR class about love.
They had come to Perú from their own country to be with us for a while. She did not speak our language very well, but her husband spoke it better than some of us. We admired him and knew he loved our language and culture.
I do not remember exactly when I began to love Sister Compton, but I think it must have been that first Sunday in Primary. She taught us the song “When I Go to Church” (Children’s Songbook, 157). She had brought pictures, and as she taught us the words of the song, she taught us about singing. She told us that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ liked to hear our voices raised in praise.
On another occasion, we again sat together during sacrament meeting. We could not say much to each other because of the language difference, but we could communicate. During the meeting, she got out a piece of paper and some crayons. I thought she was going to write something, but she whispered, “Let’s draw Mama.” She drew a small circle. Then she pointed to her eyes and gave me the piece of paper and a crayon. I understood that she wanted me to draw the eyes, and I did. I gave the crayon back to her, and she drew hair. Then I drew the dress, and she drew the arms. Eventually, the two of us had drawn a picture of my mother. I felt so happy! I showed it to Mama, and I gave Sister Compton a big hug.
She always had something to share with us. Often it was a children’s story she had written herself. One day she talked to me about Jesus Christ. Then we colored some pictures she had drawn of Jesus.
The day came when Brother and Sister Compton had to leave. I asked why. Mama told me they had a family who missed and needed them. I thought of Mama and how I could not be away from her for very long. That’s when I knew I had to let Sister Compton go.
Many years have passed since then. The letters between us have never stopped, and our friendship has become stronger. When I think of Sister Compton, I think of the words our Lord Jesus Christ left with His disciples: “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

At the end of a particularly tiring day toward the end of my first week as a General Authority, my briefcase was overloaded and my mind was preoccupied with the question “How can I possibly do this?” I left the office of the Seventy and entered the elevator of the Church Administration Building. As the elevator descended, my head was down and I stared blankly at the floor.
The door opened and someone entered, but I didn’t look up. As the door closed, I heard someone ask, “What are you looking at down there?” I recognized that voice—it was President Thomas S. Monson.
I quickly looked up and responded, “Oh, nothing.” (I’m sure that clever response inspired confidence in my abilities!)
But he had seen my subdued countenance and my heavy briefcase. He smiled and lovingly suggested, while pointing heavenward, “It is better to look up!” As we traveled down one more level, he cheerfully explained that he was on his way to the temple. When he bid me farewell, his parting glance spoke again to my heart, “Now, remember, it is better to look up.”
As we parted, the words of a scripture came to mind: “Believe in God; believe that he is … ; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth.”1 As I thought of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ’s power, my heart found the comfort I had sought in vain from the floor of that descending elevator.

Perhaps you will remember the story of Corrie ten Boom, a 50-year old spinster who became a militant heroine of the anti-Nazi underground during World War II. I would like to share with you two examples of how love worked in her life to help her do good when she had been extremely ill used.

The first time was when she was a young woman in Holland. She was very much in love and had thought her love was returned. But then one day the young man came to her door with another young woman. He wanted to introduce Corrie to his fiancée. The family rallied around to help her face this crisis. After the young couple left, Corrie fled to her bedroom, where she lay sobbing. She writes: “Later, I heard Father’s footsteps coming up the stairs. For a moment I was a little girl again waiting for him to tuck the blankets tight. But this was a hurt that no blanket could shut out, and suddenly I was afraid of what Father would say. … Of course he did not say the false, idle words.
“‘Corrie,’ he began instead, ‘do you know what hurts so very much? It’s love. Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked that means pain.
“‘There are two things we can do when this happens. We can kill the love so that it stops hurting. But then of course part of us dies, too. Or, Corrie, we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel. … Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us the perfect way.’”
Later, after the terrifying experience of a wartime Nazi concentration camp, she found herself face to face with one of the S.S. guards.

“It was at a church service in Munich that I saw him, the former S.S. man who had stood guard at the shower room door in the processing center at Ravensbruck. He was the first of our actual jailers that I had seen since that time. And suddenly it was all there—the roomful of mocking men, the heaps of clothing, [her sister] Betsie’s pain-blanched face.
“He came up to me as the church was emptying, beaming and bowing. ‘How grateful I am for your message, Fraulein.’ he said. ‘To think that, as you say, He has washed my sins away!’
“His hand was thrust out to shake mine. And I, who had preached so often to the people in Bloemendaal the need to forgive, kept my hand at my side.
“Even as the angry, vengeful thoughts boiled through me, I saw the sin of them. Jesus Christ had died for this man; was I going to ask for more? Lord Jesus, I prayed, forgive me and help me to forgive him.
“I tried to smile, I struggled to raise my hand. I could not. I felt nothing, not the slightest spark of warmth or charity. And so again I breathed a silent prayer. Jesus, I cannot forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness.
“As I took his hand the most incredible thing happened. From my shoulder along my arm and through my hand a current seemed to pass from me to him, while into my heart sprang a love for this stranger that almost overwhelmed me.
“And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world’s healing hinges, but on His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself” (Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place, New York: Bantam Books, 1971, pp. 44–45, 238).
Love is the life-giving force that renews the spirit of men and women and brings a new life to the world, a life that brings a longing for immortality.

It was in March of 1878 that Aurelia first thought seriously of an organization for children, especially so little boys could be taught “everything good and how to behave.” She wanted desperately to help them and prayed that she might be shown a way. “A fire seemed to burn within me,” she wrote in her history.
A few weeks later Sister Eliza R. Snow went to Farmington to meet with the Relief Society. She and Sister Emmeline B. Wells, who accompanied her, stopped at Aurelia’s home for a brief visit on their way to the depot to board a train back to Salt Lake. Sister Rogers discussed with them her concern over many of the boys, who she felt were not being properly taught the gospel nor the manners that would help them become good men. She asked if an organization to help them would ever be possible. We are told that Sister Snow was “silent for a few moments, then said there might be such a thing and that she would speak to the First Presidency about it.”
At that time John Taylor was president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the acting president of the Church, since a president had not yet been sustained by the Church membership after the death of Brigham Young. Sister Rogers talked with President Taylor who discussed the matter with other members of the Quorum of the Twelve, and they were inspired to write to Bishop John W. Hess of Farmington, asking him to call some women to be leaders. Sister Rogers was chosen to be the president. “Up to this period,” she said, “the girls had not been mentioned; but my idea was that the meeting would not be complete without them . …” And so it was agreed.
Louisa Haight and Helen M. Miller were selected as counselors of the new organization to be called “Primary,” a name suggested by Sister Eliza R. Snow. Bishop Hess urged these women to visit every home in the area to invite the children to attend and to obtain their parents’ permission. Sister Rogers reported that they enrolled 112 boys and 112 girls! The children, together with all members of the ward, were asked to attend a public meeting on Sunday, August 11, 1878, when these women, and others, were set apart by Bishop Hess and his counselors to preside over a Primary at Farmington.
Bishop Hess was most helpful, often attending Primary himself or delegating other priesthood holders to do so. In a letter written shortly after the organization of the first Primary, Sister Snow wrote encouragingly:
“I feel assured that the inspiration of heaven is directing you, and that a great and very important movement is being inaugurated for the future of Zion . … The angels and all holy beings, especially the leaders of Israel on the other side of the veil, will be deeply interested.”
Sister Rogers’ records that were so miraculously saved from the fire report that the children were called together for the very first Primary on August 25, 1878. This is how she described the Primaries that followed:
“When they [the children] came to understand the motives which prompted the calling of their little meetings, they seemed elated with what was being done for them. Obedience, faith in God, prayer, punctuality and good manners were subjects oft repeated. At these meetings, the whole association would generally take part in the exercises. The smaller children were seated on the front benches, the rest according to size. At the proper time the smallest would rise up and, perhaps, recite a verse or two in concert, then sit down and the next bench full take their turn in answering Bible questions. Another class would sing a song; another would repeat sentiments or verses, one at a time, and so on.
“… The next spring we rented a town lot and the Primary Association planted beans and popcorn to go with the Relief Society wheat in the time of famine which is to come.”

One evening in April 1836, for example, Elder Parley P. Pratt had retired early with pressing worries and a heavy heart. He didn’t know how he was going to meet his financial obligations. His wife had been seriously ill, and his aged mother had come to live with him. A year earlier the house he had been building had gone up in flames.

While he was deep in thought, a knock came at the door. Elder Heber C. Kimball entered and, filled with the spirit of prophecy, told Elder Pratt that he should travel to Toronto, Canada, where he would “find a people prepared for the fulness of the gospel” and that “many [would] be brought to the knowledge of the truth.”

Despite his worries, Elder Pratt departed. When he arrived in Toronto, at first no one seemed interested in hearing what he had to say.

Among those he met was John Taylor, who had been a Methodist preacher. John received Elder Pratt courteously but coolly. John Taylor had heard distorted rumors about a new sect, their “golden bible,” and stories of angels appearing to an “unlearned youth, reared in the backwoods of New York.”

A wise man, John Taylor had been seeking the truth all his life. He listened to what Elder Pratt had to say. Among other things, the stranger from America promised that anyone who investigated the gospel could know for himself, through the influence of the Holy Ghost, that it was true.

At one point John Taylor asked, “What do you mean by this Holy Ghost? … [Will it give] a certain knowledge of the principles that you believe in?”

The Apostle replied, “Yes, … and if it will not, then I am an impostor.”

Hearing this, John Taylor took up the challenge, saying, “If I find his religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; and if false, then I shall expose it.”

Not only did he accept the challenge, but he “received that Spirit through obedience to the Gospel.” Soon he knew for himself what millions of others have since known, that the gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored to the earth.

Eventually this man who had devoted his entire life to seeking the truth became the third President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It was really late, and my sister was asleep, but I was still up reading. I held my book and flashlight under the covers. If Mom or Dad came to see if I was still awake, I could switch off my flashlight, close my eyes, and they’d never know I wasn’t really asleep.
I just couldn’t put my book down yet. It was full of scary stories, and I had to know what happened next.
Scritch, scritch. I jumped. What was that sound? It was coming from my window. It sounded just like in the story I was reading, where a girl was hiding from a ghost in her house.
I shivered as the sound came again. Scritch, scritch, meow. I slowly let out my breath. It was just our cat scratching the window. Maybe it was time to put the book down and go to sleep.
I stuck my bookmark between the pages and hid the book under my pillow. Then I switched off the flashlight. Now it was totally dark. The bed creaked as I rolled over. What was that shadow in the corner? Had that been there before?
I pulled the covers up over my head and tried to fall asleep. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl in the story. What would I do if a ghost was in my house?!
Ghosts aren’t real, I told myself. It’s just a story. I kept telling myself that, and finally I fell asleep.
The next day was a book sale at school. I’d been saving up my chore money for weeks. When it was my class’s turn, I went straight to the scary stories.
At the bottom of the stack was a book with an old picture of a creepy house. “I bet it’s haunted,” I told my friend Julia. I tucked it under my arm and found two other books to try.
That night I started my new books. I read straight through the first one. You had to read scary stories fast. If you thought about something scary for too long, it just made you more scared.
But the next day, as I started reading the book with the haunted house, I did stop to think. I’d been reading scary stories for days. I’d hardly set the books down. I’d hardly even left my room. And my brain was full of lots of scary things. I thought about ghosts and people getting lost in the woods and monsters that tricked and ate you. All that stuff made me scared—even while sitting in my safe room with the sun shining through the window.
I set my book down and took a deep breath. These books didn’t make me happy. They didn’t make me feel good. I was sad about lots of things, and these books just made me feel worse.
I closed my eyes and leaned against my bed. Dear Heavenly Father, I prayed, I don’t think these scary books are very good for me. Please help me know what to do and to be strong enough to do it.
When I opened my eyes, I looked down at my new books. “I don’t need these,” I said. It was time to find something that made me feel happy, not scared and sad.
Turn to page 20 to find some great books to read!
I picked up the books and pulled the rest of my scary stories off my shelf. It was a lot of books. But I carried them all to our recycling bin. I felt much lighter as I dumped them in.
And when I walked away, I didn’t look back.