Gospel Story Finder

Thump! went the backpack on the living room end table. “Put your bag in your room, Petey!” Mother said as she rounded the corner, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her smile faded as she noticed Peter’s somber face. “Are you OK?”
“I guess so.” Peter shrugged as he hung his coat on a hook by the door.
“Then why the glum face? Did you have a fight with Justin?”
“Well, no … It’s just that whenever I ask him to come to Primary with me, he says he’s too busy or has stuff to do or something. Why can’t I make him come? Primary is so cool!”
“Let’s sit down a minute,” Mother said, heading for the couch. She tossed the towel onto the end table next to Peter’s backpack. “Do you remember the eleventh article of faith?” she asked when they were seated. “I think that’s one you’ve already learned.”
“Hmmm, let me think.”
“‘We claim the privilege …’” she started him off.
“Oh, yeah! I remember now. That’s the one that says ‘how, where, or what they may.’”
“That’s right! It says, ‘We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God according to the dictates of our own conscience, and allow all men the same privilege, let them worship …’”
“‘how, where, or what they may!’” Peter finished proudly.
“That’s very good, Petey. But do you know what it means?”
Peter began to fidget on the couch.
Mother smiled thoughtfully. “Let me see if I can help. Remember last week, when Dad was out of town and we had that snowstorm?”
“Do I ever! We had to shovel the walks and driveway before school. It was a lot of work. And then the neighbor kids wanted to walk through the snow, so they tromped across our lawn, instead! What a waste of time!” Peter shook his head, remembering the footprints across the front lawn.
“Well, no it wasn’t,” Mother corrected gently. “Because our walks were clear, it was easy to get the car out to take you to school.”
“OK, OK.” Peter’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I still don’t get what that has to do with the eleventh article of faith—or Justin.”
“Well, we worked hard to clear a path in the snow—that’s what we wanted to do. It was important to us. But the neighborhood children chose to walk in the snow, instead—because that’s what was important to them. Right?”
“Right,” Peter said. “So what?”
“Well, you want Justin to go to Primary on Sunday because it’s important to you, right?”
“Oh. I think I get it,” Peter said slowly. “Even though I choose to go to Primary, that doesn’t mean that Justin has to, right?”
Mother smiled. “That’s right. Heavenly Father has given us a very precious gift called agency. It is the right to choose and act for ourselves. We can’t force someone to follow the same path we choose to follow. However, while you need to let Justin have his agency, it’s also very good for you to love him and be his friend. You can keep showing Justin the ‘clear path’ that’s important to you. And maybe—just maybe—he’ll want to follow it one day.”
As Peter grabbed his backpack and headed up the stairs, he turned and smiled. “I’m glad I have my agency so I can choose to go to Primary.”

After high school, like many freshmen, I was overwhelmed by my college courses and the challenges of simultaneously living away from home but also with five roommates.

This was when I learned to understand the strengthening and enabling power of Christ’s grace. I spent my days working and studying, but I depended on daily prayers in which I pled to Heavenly Father for the ability to complete the necessary tasks. As the school year continued, I discovered to my joy that with the strengthening and enabling power of Christ’s Atonement, I could function not only well but without difficulty.

When his grandpa had a mild heart attack, Chris gave up his bedroom to his grandpa and grandma so that they could stay at his house. He did this and many other things without complaint. He helped Grandpa with his IV (medicine that Grandpa had to carry around with him), got him something to drink when he was thirsty, brought him his supper, and did anything else he needed when he couldn’t get around very well. Chris even helped Grandma in the kitchen. A happy, loving child, Chris always has a smile on his face and a song in his heart. He is active in the ward Primary and has borne his strong testimony in fast and testimony meeting at church.

The day dawned bright, hot, breathless. Perfect weather for planting, John thought as he jumped out of bed and dressed in his work clothes. It was the time of year he loved most. Days were getting longer, full of sunshine, and new things were beginning to grow.
John struggled to fasten the clumsy metal buttons on his overalls. “I have to hurry—I hear Grandpa outside,” he said to himself. His sleepy fingers finally managed to nudge the last stubborn button through the buttonhole. John was Grandpa’s helper now that his big brother, Mark, was serving a mission.
Today he and Grandpa were going to get the small south field ready to plant in wheat. After that, there would be weeks of work ahead for them—wonderful weeks of fertilizing, weeding, waiting. Then would come the biggest event of all, the harvest.
After a quick breakfast, a whoop of sheer joy, and a kiss on Mom’s cheek, seven-year-old John grabbed the knapsack his mother had prepared and bounded out the back door and across the yard. He scrambled excitedly up onto the well-worn metal tractor seat and settled down next to Grandpa. He surveyed the waiting field, then grinned his mile-wide, I’m-ready-to-get-down-to-work grin.
Today was a big day for John. Grandpa was going to let him steer the tractor all by himself for the first time. Grandpa trusted him to help with even the toughest jobs around the farm, and that made him feel grown-up.
John anxiously double-checked his gear. Yep, everything was there. Mom had sent along one man-sized lunch, a thermos of ice water, a hat to help keep the sun away, and. … Thrusting his hand deep down into his pocket, John fingered the coins he had brought along so that he could surprise Grandpa by taking him to town for an ice-cream cone after their work was done.
“Why, John!” Grandpa exclaimed over the noisy tractor engine, “I do believe you’ve forgotten something.”
“What, Grandpa?”
“You’ve forgotten your two front teeth,” Grandpa chuckled, tousling John’s hair and smiling into his freckle-splashed face.
Now both of them were laughing, and John, reaching up, gave Grandpa a mighty hug.
“You’ll be glad I lost those teeth, Grandpa, because the tooth fairy left me just enough money for …”
“Enough money for what?” Grandpa’s voice boomed over the rattle and roar of the tractor.
“You’ll see when we’re finished here, Grandpa,” John teased as they headed the tractor down to the field.
After forty years of farming, Grandpa had retired and John’s dad had taken over the farm. All of it, that is, except this one small parcel of land. “I won’t ever quit working this field,” Grandpa told John as they chugged along on the trusty old tractor. “This is our mission field.”
“Oh, Grandpa,” John giggled. “When Mark writes letters to me about being in the mission field, he isn’t talking about being out in a field of wheat.”
“John, I can see it’s time I tell you the story.” Grandpa reached over to shut the engine off. “When your dad was ready to go on a mission, almost twenty-five years ago now, your grandmother and I couldn’t afford to send him. We’d always tried our best to live the gospel, and we knew we could depend on the Lord, so we prayed that He would help us make enough money to send our boy on a mission.”
“Were your prayers answered, Grandpa?”
“Yes, John. Heavenly Father answered them in a surprising way. This little piece of land came up for sale, and your grandma and I felt inspired to buy it. It was a small field, nothing to rave about. But we had read in the scriptures that from small things great blessings come. So Grandma and I hoped that if we remained faithful and hard-working, the Lord might see fit to turn this small field into a great blessing.”
“Did you get your blessing, Grandpa?” John asked.
“Did we ever!” Grandpa answered, beaming. “We received enough money from our first crop to send your dad on his mission, and for as long as he was serving in England, we had a bumper crop. When he came home from England, the field’s production returned to normal, but as each of our three sons served missions, it thrived again. To this day, Grandma and I call it our mission field. Why, this very field is helping support Mark on his mission right now.” Grandpa smiled, giving John’s shoulder a healthy squeeze.
“And someday,” John whispered, “do you think that someday, Grandpa … ?”
“Yes, John, someday you’ll reap the rewards of our mission field too.”
It was time to work now. John and Grandpa dug right in, grateful for the fertile soil beneath them.
Under Grandpa’s watchful eye, John steered the tractor around the field, carefully overturning the hard soil. He tried hard to set his sights so that the rows would be straight and to concentrate on Grandpa’s instructions. He wanted to do his best, now more than ever before.
Dust swirled behind the tractor as John steered it, row by row, up and down the field. After the field had been plowed, they put the disk harrow onto the tractor and went over the field again to break up any large clumps of earth. Gophers, rabbits, and grasshoppers scurried ahead to avoid the harrow’s sharp disks. Seagulls swooped down from above in hopes of nabbing a succulent cricket or grasshopper as John and Grandpa made their rounds. Beneath him, John felt the soil break up, ready for them to plant the next day.
John imagined how it would be in early autumn, when the field would be beautiful with tall, golden wheat, ripe for harvest. Grandpa would pull a handful of wheat from the stalk, as he always did, and rub it hard between his strong, rough hands to separate the kernels from the chaff. Then he and John would stand together in the field, the breeze blowing waves of grain around them, while they tasted the wheat. Grandpa would chew slowly, deliberately, checking for texture and flavor. John would chew his handful of wheat until it turned to gum in his mouth. At last Grandpa would nod with satisfaction and say, “It’s ready, John,” and together they would harvest the crop.
John sighed contentedly as he and Grandpa climbed down off the tractor that day. This was going to be a most wonderful summer. John just knew it. There would be ice-cream cones to eat, laughter to share, and stories to tell. Best of all, he thought as he gazed out over the newly plowed mission field, this summer there will be a bumper crop!

One of those more recently called leaders is Bárdur Á. Gunnarsson, current president of the Reykjavík Branch. He, too, first heard of the Church in 1982, but that was a time in his life when his thoughts were far from religion. Even though his lifestyle was not so different from most other young men in his country, he had many obstacles to overcome. “I tried several times to quit smoking and drinking, but I didn’t have the strength to do it,” Bárdur recalls. He had a family, but it was one that began without the blessing of a marriage ceremony. Finally, four years after the elders first knocked on his door, his desire to unite his family and to seek forgiveness led him to be married to Ólöf Bjarnadóttir, the mother of his three daughters. Ólöf was not ready to be baptized at that time, but she did give her consent for him to take their three little girls to church every Sunday. “My patriarchal blessing told me I would go to the temple with my wife and children, and I worked very hard to make this happen,” said Bárdur.

Bárdur’s dream of uniting his family began to come true in 1994 when word was received that the Icelandic temple ceremony was scheduled to be recorded in the Salt Lake Temple. In May of that year, Ólöf accompanied him to Salt Lake City, along with the small group who had been called to make the recording. While there, surrounded by their friends, Bárdur baptized his wife in the baptistry of the Salt Lake Tabernacle. They were sealed in the London Temple one year later.

Bertha came into my life when I was thirteen years old and just beginning junior high school. How well I remember that first day of school. The building was large with endless halls and rows and rows of student lockers. Most of the students had come on school buses from small farms and neighborhoods. This was certainly not a big city group, but we were still anxious to be popular and accepted. There were so many of us that we were going to be using a former elementary school across the street for additional classrooms. I alternated between excitement and panic at the thought of finding my way around from one classroom to another.
I had worked hard all summer baby-tending and getting up at 5:00 A.M. to pick strawberries and cherries so I could earn enough money to buy nice school clothes. But even in all my fine new clothes, I felt awkward and uneasy.
My friends and I grouped together, trying to act in a casual manner to hide the fear we felt but didn’t dare admit. We were in awe as the older students moved confidently through the halls laughing and teasing each other. It was a relief when the bell finally rang and we all gathered in the big assembly hall where it was announced that each new student was to be assigned for the day to an older “big brother or sister” to show them around. The name of each new student was called out, along with the name of his or her “buddy” for the day.
When my name was called along with Bertha Brown, I heard several of my friends gasp. I had no idea who Bertha Brown was, but it was obvious that some of them did. As soon as we were excused to go meet our “big sisters,” I was surrounded by girls telling me to hide quickly before Bertha could find me. It was clear that to be assigned to Bertha was the worst possible fate. I was so confused. Part of me said not to hide—that would be a mean thing to do. But another part of me wanted to be popular with the other girls, and that’s the side that won.
So the game began—the hiding, the giggling, and the running from imagined danger. We managed to escape from Bertha for the moment, but not before I caught a glimpse of her. It was true that she was not pretty. She was even a little scary to look at with her unkempt, dry hair. Her clothes looked like something a grandmother would wear, and her shoes were brown and ugly.
All day the big story was how poor little Sheron had to hide from Bertha. The one time that I really saw Bertha’s face she looked so sad. How could we be so mean to her? I thought. She hadn’t done anything to deserve it. There we were, a whole group of girls, running away from one lonely person. I knew that what we were doing was wrong. I didn’t want to play that awful game. What I really wanted was to talk to Bertha and tell her I was sorry. I knew that she must be embarrassed. But I wasn’t brave enough, so I let everyone else lead me. But oh, I was miserable!
Later that day I forgot about Bertha when I was called to Mrs. Jensen’s office. She had been my very favorite teacher in elementary school, and now she was a counselor at the junior high. I could hardly wait to see her. All the way to her office I imagined all kinds of wonderful things. Maybe she wanted me to be her special assistant. Maybe she had something important that she wanted me to do. I almost ran through the halls in my eagerness to see Mrs. Jensen. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
When I walked into her office, I could see tears in her eyes, and my heart nearly broke when she looked straight at me and said, “Of all the girls coming into seventh grade, I assigned Bertha to you because I thought that you were the one girl who would be kind to her!”
All the misery of the day came crashing down on me, and I sobbed as I realized that Mrs. Jensen did have an important assignment for me and I had failed her. I had failed Bertha. But, most of all, I had betrayed myself. The next day everyone else forgot about the game—and Bertha. I never did. I rarely saw her after that day. When I did catch a glimpse of her all alone, I wanted desperately to tell her how sorry I was. But I was too ashamed and too young in my understanding of compassion to know how much it would mean to her.
I never saw Bertha again after junior high, and yet she has been a very important part of my life. Even today I wish that I had found the courage to be her friend. How do you say you are sorry to someone that you have never spoken to and yet hurt so deeply that more than thirty years later you cannot forget?
I finally dealt with what I had done to Bertha one Easter when I was studying about the atonement of Christ. How grateful I am to the Savior for his sacrifice and for the realization that through his wonderful gift I can finally lay that burden down and find peace and forgiveness—not that I will forget, but that I can now use the lesson to improve my life and bless others.
Because of Bertha, I have never again knowingly been unkind to anyone, and I have tried to teach my children the same. I have a special place in my heart for those who don’t seem to fit in, for those who are lonely and forgotten. Because of Bertha, it is easier for me to see beyond the surface and understand the heart of those I meet. I have tried to make it up to her by the way I treat others, but I will always wish that I could see her and say, “I’m sorry, Bertha.”

Many of the pioneer faces in my mind are the faces of friends in Nigeria, West Africa. When I first arrived there in January 1984, I met Cecilia and learned of her creative pioneering in what seemed to me the overwhelming task of day-to-day living. I said, “You are my teacher.”

She responded, “I will be your teacher.”

I told her that I didn’t know if I could learn very fast, because she had so much to teach me. She smiled gently and said, “I will teach slowly.”

And she did. I lived as Cecilia’s neighbor for several months, and I will be grateful all my life for the things she helped me learn. I am a better pioneer because of this great soul and others in our neighborhood who allowed me to follow in their footsteps for a little while.

It still amuses me that my companion, Ann, and I were sent to teach Cecilia and others about self-reliance. While I hope we were able to share some information about health and sanitation that made a difference for them, I know that I personally learned the greatest lessons. Most of those lessons I learned from them had to do with self-reliance. I’m convinced that Cecilia and her sisters can handle any emergency. Forging onward, ever onward, they are indeed blessed, honored pioneers.

For years, I took notes from each general conference talk but never looked at those notes again. At the completion of the October 2021 conference, I felt impressed to incorporate my notes into my life. My new plan took key thoughts from my notes and focused on one thought a week for the next six months. That gave me a message to focus on every week until the next conference.
This practice follows the prophet’s counsel to study general conference teachings. “I exhort you to study the messages of this conference frequently—even repeatedly—during the next six months,” President Russell M. Nelson said. “Conscientiously look for ways to incorporate these messages in your family home evenings, your gospel teaching, your conversations with family and friends, and even your discussions with those not of our faith.”
As a single mother of four single adults, this strategy helps me refocus and refine my goals to become a better person and mother and to strive to become more like the Savior each day.
My process is not the only way to study conference. I offer it as a suggestion as you make your own plan to implement the teachings of general conference in your life. Here’s how it works for me:
I listen to each talk and write the important insights that touch my heart, as well as thoughts I receive from the Spirit. At the end of each session, I listen to the Spirit as I highlight one or two things from each talk that I feel I need to work on or that will remind me how to become more Christlike.
Then I choose 26 highlighted thoughts and assign one a week until the next general conference. I type the thoughts into a list and assign each a Sunday date. I place this list on my bathroom mirror as a reminder. I also assign these weekly thoughts on my phone calendar. Each Sunday I receive a reminder to start a new focus. This thought will be at the front of my mind as I pray each morning for help throughout the day. Each night, I review with Heavenly Father how I did that day.
I post a list of general conference messages on my bathroom mirror to remind myself of what I’d like to work on until the next conference.
Here is an example of the first month of my calendar after last conference:
April 7: Read Doctrine and Covenants 109 (the Kirtland Temple dedicatory prayer).
April 14: Say “thank you,” “I’m sorry,” and “I love you.” Say them often and sincerely.
April 21: Unkind feelings or thoughts toward others will cause the Spirit to withdraw from us.
April 28: Have confidence in the covenants made with God through Jesus Christ. Honor the covenants we have made.
As I’ve implemented this plan, I’ve felt closer to the Spirit. I am reminded of the thoughts that touched my heart during general conference. I apply them each day instead of closing my notebook after conference, never to look at my notes again. I still enjoy relistening to the conference talks. But now I also have a weekly focus from my personal notes.

Remember that Heavenly Father answers our prayers in the way that is best for us. It may not be the answer that we want, but it is always the right answer. I remember my Primary graduation. Back then, we wore bandalos (felt bands worn around the neck and that emblems and awards were attached to), and my Primary teacher told me that I needed to wear mine. I couldn’t find it! My mother told me to pray about it, so I knelt and asked Heavenly Father for help. I soon received my answer. The Spirit told me to look underneath my dresser drawer. When I reached up under it, I found my bandalo caught on a sliver of wood. I never would have looked there if I hadn’t prayed for help. We need to always remember that if we ask, we shall receive (see Matt. 7:7–8). If we ask Heavenly Father for guidance, the Spirit will whisper to us what we should do.

What would you do if you were really good at karate and other kids made fun of you? Would you use your skills to get back at them? Maybe teach them not to pick on you anymore?
Eleven-year-old Eduardo Dourado knows what he would do—nothing. Although some of his schoolmates make fun of him for keeping the standards of the Church, he chooses the right and refuses to fight. “I could beat them,” he says, “but I don’t want to hurt anyone. Sometimes I’ve had to protect myself, but I try other things first to keep from fighting.”
As Jesus taught, Eduardo ignores insults. But it isn’t always easy. Because he won’t swear and do other bad things, kids make fun of him. Sometimes he feels lonely. But he knows what Jesus wants him to do, and that is what he chooses to do.

Father wasn’t interested in a “new” religion, and if James Reed hadn’t had bloody feet, Father wouldn’t have let him in that cold, snowy night. When Brother Reed told the family about the Book of Mormon, Father issued him a challenge: “If it’s true, we’ll listen to all that you have to tell us.” If upon reading it, Father believed Brother Reed to be a liar, however, he would be thrown out of the house. Father started to read it that very night. …
Early the next morning, Mary Ann awoke when she heard an ax behind their cabin. Sleepily she snuggled back under the covers. The cabin would soon be warm. Father was building a fire. Then, hearing her father’s voice downstairs, she sat straight up. Father wasn’t chopping wood! Who was? Wrapping a shawl around her, she hurried down the ladder.
The front door opened as Brother Reed came in with an armful of wood. On top was a pile of kindling to help get the fire going. “Good morning to you all,” he said cheerfully. “The snow’s stopped, and the air is clear. It’s a beautiful day.”
“You shouldn’t be up and about on those feet,” Mother said.
He winked at Mary Ann. “Warm woolen socks do wonders for a pair of sore feet.”
Mary Ann winked back. She looked at her father. Although he didn’t say anything, she could tell that he was pleased that the stranger would help with the chores.
When Anna began to fuss in her cradle, Brother Reed gently picked her up so that Mother could continue to cook breakfast. Father opened the book the stranger had brought and began to read more of it.
Mary Ann crossed over to Brother Reed. He looked like he knew how to hold babies. “Do you have any children?”
He nodded and looked sad for a moment. “I have a wife and two tiny boys in Kirtland, Ohio.”
Mother stopped stirring the porridge. “You left them to preach the gospel?”
He nodded as he continued to gently jounce the baby. “My wife, Alice, believes the gospel as strongly as I do. She waits patiently for me to return. The Lord will provide for her.”
When breakfast was ready, they all sat down around the rough table. Father turned to Brother Reed. “Would you like to offer a word of prayer?”
“Surely, but may I quote a scripture first?” At Father’s nod, Brother Reed said: “‘And behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it said unto them:
‘Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.
‘And it came to pass, as they understood they cast their eyes up again towards heaven; and behold, they saw a Man descending out of heaven; and he was clothed in a white robe; and he came down and stood in the midst of them.’”*
Then he gave a blessing on the food and all those that lived in the house.
“That scripture you quoted,” Mother said. “I don’t remember hearing it before.”
“It’s from the Book of Mormon. It’s about Jesus Christ’s appearance to the people here in the Americas after His resurrection.”
Mary Ann felt that warm feeling wash all over her again. She felt good at church when Parson Grimes taught, but this was different. It seemed to fill her whole soul. While they were eating, she shyly asked, “Is this Apostle you talked about close by? I’ve never seen an Apostle of the Lord before. Could we hear him preach?”
Brother Reed smiled at her. “Tomorrow is the Sabbath, and we have received permission to preach in Pastor Grimes’s church. If you come with me at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, you’ll get to meet a true Apostle of the living God.” He looked around the table. “You’re all invited. Will you come?”
Mother looked at Father. He nodded.
Mary Ann’s family always observed the Sabbath, so all their work had to be finished on Saturday. Never had she worked so eagerly! The next day she would actually see an Apostle of the Lord!
At ten o’clock the little log chapel bulged with people gathered to hear the Mormon preachers. Mary Ann and her family sat next to her best friend, Betsy, and her family.
As Mary Ann looked up at the face of Brigham Young, she thought That is an Apostle of Jesus Christ! She listened carefully to all he said, and again she felt that warm feeling telling her that he spoke the truth. She whispered to Betsy, “Can you believe you’re actually seeing one of the Lord’s Apostles?”
Betsy glared at her. “You’re crazy! My father says these men are imposters. God stopped speaking to men on earth years ago. We don’t need Apostles—we have the Bible.”
Suddenly anger welled up inside Mary Ann. How could her best friend be so blind. Tears flowed down her cheeks, she rushed outside. Betsy followed her.
“I suppose you believe them,” Betsy sneered. “I suppose you’re going to be baptized.”
Mary Ann felt hate in her heart just then. She glared at her friend. “Yes, I am! And you’ll be sorry someday that you didn’t. You’re just too stupid to understand.”
“No, I’m not,” Betsy answered. “And I won’t be sorry, because I’m not fooled by them.”
Mary Ann ran around the corner of the church and leaned against a tree. How can Betsy be so blind? she wondered. How can she be so mean to me?
Mother walked toward her. “I saw you run out of the meeting. Is something wrong?”
“Betsy thinks they’re fakes. I hate her! How can she be so stupid. Doesn’t she feel anything?”
Mother gave her a hug. “Do you remember what the Savior did when someone didn’t believe Him? What He did when they hurt Him?”
Mary Ann hung her head. “He forgave them.”
“Yes, and He prayed for them. Even on the cross, He prayed for them.” She hugged Mary Ann again. “When you feel better, come back to the meeting. Brother Young will not be here forever.”
After she left, Mary Ann still felt angry. But it was cold outside, so she went home. Climbing to the loft, she knelt by her bed and prayed that she could forgive Betsy. Then she prayed that Betsy would listen to the message of these men.
When she finished, she felt better. Maybe Betsy would never listen, but it was Mary Ann’s job to be a friend and to understand. She climbed down from the loft and started back to the meeting. If Betsy was still there, Mary Ann would apologize for getting angry. Maybe later Betsy would listen to the message of the true gospel.

I used to be the same way. I reserved my best behavior for people I didn’t live with and let my family have what was left over. My mom and I fought constantly for years. I exploded over stupid things, and I was grouchy all the time. I’m a little older now and married. I don’t even know where most of my friends are, let alone what they’re doing. The people I thought were most important to me are gone. Now I realize that my best friends are at home.

Friends come and go, but families stay forever. Literally! Eternity will be much more fun if we’re friends with the people closest to us.

Start out small. Smile, give compliments, and express your love! When something makes you angry, pause and ask yourself, “Is this worth getting angry about?” Nine times out of ten it won’t be. Remember that your moods are your own and that you can set them. You can make yourself be cheerful. And it gets easier with practice.

You’ll find that a change in your mood and behavior will affect everyone in the house.

Ruth Boston, 21Salt Lake City, Utah
I know just how you feel! I go through that sometimes too. It’s sad how much we take our family for granted. We can’t act that way toward our friends for fear of losing them, but we know our family can’t go anywhere! Try to be more patient. Get more rest. Start your days with a prayer to Heavenly Father to help you be cheerful and loving. Then let your first words be kind ones! Try serving them, and don’t forget to let them know you love them! Good luck!
Wendy McGraw, 16Edmond, Oklahoma
When you go home, put yourself in a positive frame of mind. Tell your brother or sister that they look good. Compliment your mother on her cooking. Ask your dad if he had a good day at work. You’ll find that you enjoy being at home a lot more, and your family will love being with you.
Dawn Whetten, 13Plano, Texas
Just a couple of months ago I too was great to my friends, but when I came home, I would pick fights over the littlest subjects with my parents. I began to be depressed with my actions. I love my parents very much, and I wanted to find a solution to my problem. I found that prayer, scripture reading, attending and really taking Church meetings to heart, and speaking to my parents about my problem soon led me to the path back to being the real daughter of God that I should have been all along. I’m not perfect yet, but then again, neither is any of us. So just keep trying!
Laura Kim Wright, 17Franklin, Indiana
Well, if you want to change, that’s the first step. Now doing it is sometimes awkward. With my friends I always felt comfortable. They knew my secrets, and I knew theirs, but at home there was a distance, and it took help from both sides to pull us together.

I looked at what made me happy with my friends and did the same things at home. I shared secrets, stories, experiences, and found even my parents had some stories to tell. As soon as I stopped talking and saying me and I all the time and started listening and using words like you and us, I found my best friends were my family. It hasn’t solved every problem, but it sure started smoothing the big ones out. Knowing that my family, especially my parents, are my best friends and love me in spite of my mistakes and faults really made home and family a place I wanted to be.
Name withheld
First of all write down something good about each person in your family and keep this to refer to. Set time aside for your family so that you can do something fun together.
Talk to your family. They can help, and they love you very much. Remember when all else fails or whenever you need help, your Father in Heaven is always there and waiting for you to call upon him.
Wendy Jo Fackrell, 17Nampa, Idaho

Marlan James Coe, 15, of the Las Vegas 36th Ward, Las Vegas Nevada Stake, was chosen to represent the Boy Scouts of America as the outstanding Scout in his region. Based on his outstanding achievements as a Scout, he was named the western regional winner. Marlan then went on to compete with five other Scouts from across the United States vying for the title of Scout National Youth Representative. After flying to Chicago for interviews, he was named runner-up to the national representative. That’s quite an achievement!

“I remember that story of Nephi,” Brother Grossenheider said in his raspy old voice. “I was a deacon once, you know. But I was 16 or 17 years old. I didn’t know they sent young bucks like yourselves to do this kind of work.” He squinted at the sky. “I haven’t been to church in 60 years. But I remember doing fast offerings a few times when I was a deacon.”
He paused. “I’d forgotten all about that.” He turned the envelope over and over in his hands and examined it. “That used to be an important job, fast offerings. The bishop took us around in a wagon, and we loaded that wagon with eggs and tomatoes and carrots and meat, sometimes a chicken or two. And we drove right over to the people who needed it and gave it to them. They surely were glad to get it. Nineteen thirty-six, it was. Lots of people out of work. The Depression, you know.”
He looked keenly at us over his glasses. “No, I guess you don’t. But it was an important job back then. I suspect there’s still people in need, eh.” He looked at us sharply. “You boys look mighty young to be doing important business like this.”
We didn’t answer.
He shook the envelope at us again. “Can’t fit a chicken in here. How does this work?”
Reggie and I exchanged glances. “You just put some money in it,” I said and shrugged again. “Whatever you can afford.”
“Yep,” Reggie said and put his hands in his pockets. “And then the bishop takes care of it from there.”
The old man nodded and thought for a moment. “So I’m Laban, eh?” he said and squinted his eyes at us.
We looked at the ground, embarrassed, and adjusted our feet.
He took a dollar bill from his pocket. “I don’t have much,” he said and slid the dollar into the envelope. Then he stood and slowly walked to us with the envelope, his cane supporting his left side.
“You’ll be back next month?” Brother Grossenheider asked, handing me the envelope.
“Yes, sir, we will,” I said.
He worked his way up the porch steps with his cane, groaning as his legs lifted his body to each level. At the top he turned around and paused as his hard breathing settled to a quieter mode. “You boys close that gate when you leave, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and we did.
When we got to the street, Reggie said, “You know, I was thinking how the quorum needs a service project. Maybe next month we could ask Brother Grossenheider about helping with his yard. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go tell Brother Baron.” I turned and ran. “Last one there is a rotten egg!”

With all the talk about the gasoline shortage and air pollution, people are beginning to eye the bicycle more and more seriously as a means of transportation. But there’s at least one group of cyclists who probably don’t want to even look at another bicycle—for a little while at least.
They’re the nine sore but happy bicycle-brigadiers of Explorer Post 9226 of the Laie Third Ward of Oahu Stake, Hawaii, who have completed a 108-mile pedal-power trip around the island of Oahu.
The first leg of their trip began at one in the afternoon and took them 42 miles along the Kamehameha Highway, over narrow roads, through stop and go traffic, up and down long Hawaiian hills, to beautiful Hanauma Bay where they camped for the night.
The next morning they traveled the remaining 66 miles around the island, passing through Waikiki and Pearl City, and arriving back in Laie by four in the afternoon.
In spite of some close calls on the often narrow and busy Hawaiian highways, there were no accidents—not even a flat tire.
Group members included Explorer leader Tom Hunt, and Explorers Creed Walton, Mark Walton, Matthew Loveland, Mike Farley, Jack Hadley, Ward Lokani, Seuseu Suamataia, and Allen Anae.

Early in the spring, a few days before Easter, I went out into the desert country of western Utah. I had been there a month earlier and had been amazed at the silence. There was nothing moving, no life, only the gray color of the earth and the sagebrush and a somber winter sky. This time I got there in the night and listened to the coyotes and great horned owls calling until morning.
With first light I climbed to a high peak and watched the sun rise over mountains a hundred miles away. As the sun cleared the mountains, golden light fell on a desert floor covered with red flowers and green grass. Thunderclouds 30 miles away swept across the valley floor. There were mule deer and antelope. A doe and her fawn walked within 20 feet of me. Great flocks of small birds, chickadees, wrens, finches, and juncos flew over. The desert had come to life with the spring.
It’s funny how you can know something and not know it. I thought of another desert and another spring. I thought of Easter and of what it means, of life coming from death, of death coming from life, of resurrection, of living again, and for the first time I began to understand. It was like my friend’s hand pulling me out of the water onto the safety of the ice.
I would like to say everything changed then. It didn’t. Some of the hurt I feel from the way my mother died will always be with me. The morning in the desert was just a beginning, a change in direction. It is a direction I think will take me a lifetime to complete.

“How are you coming on reading the Book of Mormon?” the bishop asked our family during tithing settlement in 2005.
We had just finished talking about my many responsibilities at church and at home with two toddler boys. I stammered something about how hard it was to read a whole chapter every day, but in my heart I knew I was making excuses. The simple fact was that though I had done many good things the past few months, I had not attempted to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover as President Gordon B. Hinckley had challenged.1
As the new year began, the Spirit pricked my soul. I felt like the leper Naaman, who at first refused to undertake the simple task of washing himself in the waters of Jordan, as requested by the prophet Elisha (see 2 Kings 5:1–14). Reading the Book of Mormon is also a simple task.
The next fast Sunday, several brothers and sisters bore testimony of how the prophet’s promises were realized in their lives. I knew I had missed out on those blessings because I had not listened to his voice. I resolved to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover in 2006—and the next year and the next year—so that, like President Hinckley, I could gain a love for it.
As the year drew to a close, I reflected on my goal, knowing that I would finish the book by the end of the year. I realized that I had gained insights that I could not have gained from any other source. I had grown closer to my Heavenly Father and my Savior. I had found more opportunities to share the gospel throughout the year because I had read the Book of Mormon and could testify of its truthfulness.
I wish I had taken President Hinckley’s challenge in 2005. Just like Naaman, who finally washed himself in the waters of Jordan, I could have enjoyed the blessings of the Book of Mormon much sooner than I did.
I am grateful that I have learned the importance of taking even simple challenges from the prophet. I look forward to a new year full of blessings from reading the Book of Mormon—again.

“Father, where are you going?” George asked.
“To the duke’s court,” he was told.
“May I come too?”
“No,” his father said sternly.
George knew that his father had to be obeyed. But there were musicians at court, and George longed to hear them play. Father said that music was foolish child’s play, not work for men. George must become a lawyer and forget about music. His father didn’t know that George spent hours practicing in secret on a clavier (the “grandfather” of the modern piano).
But George needed to hear other musicians play, so he decided to go to the court at Weissenfels anyway. It couldn’t be very far from his home in Halle, (Saxony, Germany).
He watched as his father climbed into the carriage; then, as the horse pulled it down the street, George ran behind the carriage. By the time they reached the edge of town, George’s breath was coming in great gulps, and the carriage started to go faster. The distance between George and the carriage became greater, no matter how hard he ran.
Suddenly the carriage stopped. The driver climbed down, ran to the boy, picked him up, and carried him to the carriage.
“What are you trying to do?” his father scolded him. “A seven-year-old boy cannot run as far as Weissenfels. I told you that you could not come. Why did you disobey me? You may sit with the driver, but you’ll be punished when we get home.”
When they entered the castle, George heard music. He followed the sounds to a large room where a man was playing the organ. The boy listened happily until the last note died away. “May I play?” he asked.
“Only for a minute.”
George sat on the organ bench and began to play. He was thrilled at the beautiful tones that filled the room. Not until he had played the last note did the man speak to him. “Who are you?” the man asked.
“George Frideric Handel,” he answered.
“You play well. How old are you, and who is your teacher?”
“I’m seven, but I don’t have a teacher. My father doesn’t want me to be a musician.”
Just then George’s father entered the room. “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” he said to the man, who happened to be the duke, “if my son has disturbed you.”
“You are the boy’s father?” the duke asked. “He tells me that he has no music teacher. Don’t you realize that he is very talented? Get him a music teacher at once, and bring him to play for me again.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” George’s father said meekly.
When they returned home, George was sent to bed in disgrace. But the very next day Father arranged for the organist of the largest church in Halle to teach George, and he was allowed to prepare for a life in music. But George also respected his father’s desire for him to be a lawyer, and completed law school.

Young friends, it is the will of God that you pray unceasingly. Many times I was tried and tested as a young boy on the Navajo reservation. I was often on my knees in our small, humble hogan. In those moments I asked my Heavenly Father for faith, strength, and courage to withstand temptations. Many times as I was on my knees, my own brothers made fun of me, laughing and sneering and shouting through the cracks of the hogan. But I was not bothered by them.
The young people who kneel down and ask God for faith and courage to resist temptation very early in life will find that temptation loses much of its luster. You cannot suddenly receive a full-grown testimony that God lives and that the Church is true any more than you can come into the world fully grown. You start small but grow with consistency.
Your faith needs nourishment through prayers. Exercise the muscle of faith until it is of such strength that it will sustain you. Beloved youth, get on your knees. The Lord has a testimony just for you, one that fits your size and needs. But you have to ask for it.

In many cases the example set by these Boston Stake young people has rubbed off on their associates. When Rich Hutchins started playing football for his school, he was able to set a good example. His mother accompanied him to the annual football banquet. The tradition was that after dinner the boys went out drinking. Rich declined their invitation and was taunted with “the good little Mormon boy has to go home with his mommy.” However, the next year after the banquet, he was not teased. And the following year, some friends chose to go home with him instead.