Gospel Story Finder

“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was an open place called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. One of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The holler was truly a paradise for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”

Illustration by Greg Newbold
After my classes finished in the late afternoon, I stopped by a tiny antique store just before I made my way home—an errand I wanted to finish despite the increased intensity of the rain. I was the only person in the store, and the woman working there helped me with the lamp I’d had my eye on.
As she opened a shopping bag, I noticed a display of brightly colored bracelets on the counter. I reached for one just as she placed the lamp into the bag. She brushed the display, and about half the bracelets clattered to the floor. She looked a little flustered but finished ringing up my purchase. I left the store, umbrella in one hand, bag with a lamp in it in the other.
I walked home, took off my wet boots, and put on some music. As I took the lamp out, I noticed something at the bottom of the bag. It was a red bracelet. It must have fallen from the display into my bag. I smiled, thinking how much this moment was beginning to resemble a story from the old Young Women manual: “Then Valerie thought of the lesson they’d just had in Laurels class.”
I tossed the bracelet on my bed and plugged in my lamp. It created a warm glow in the gray afternoon. I looked out the window. It was raining even harder, and the snow on the ground was turning to dirty slush.
I looked at the bracelet. It was cherry red. I slipped it on my wrist. The price tag swung—$20. Of course I would return it. It never entered my mind not to. I pulled it off and put it on top of a pile of books I’d been meaning to put away. I walked into the other room to make a cup of hot chocolate.
Then I walked back in.
How long had I put off dealing with those books anyway? A while. How long would that bracelet be there if I put off taking it back?
My intention was to return it. But when would that be? Would I wait so long that I would feel awkward returning it? Would I forget about it?
I hesitated a little more. I looked out the window again. I thought about how my feet had just warmed up. I thought about my delicious hot chocolate.
Then I grabbed the bracelet, pulled my boots back on, and headed back out.
When I arrived at the store, the woman was helping someone else. I stood and waited. When she finished, I pulled the bracelet out of my coat pocket, explaining how it had come to be there. She looked sort of surprised, a little confused, said thank you, and that was it. She didn’t offer me a reward for my honesty. She wasn’t excessive in her thanks. And no one else was around to see it.
As I walked home, I thought about how I’d always considered myself an honest person. It is a quality I value and look for in others. But real honesty, like real love and real charity, is an active attribute. However honorable and true my intentions, I only became an honest person when I put those rain boots back on and acted on my intentions.
I felt my bare wrist inside my coat and smiled a little.

It was early in the morning, and I sat in our small apartment trying to study. I had been serving as a missionary in Atlanta, Georgia, for the past six months. The first few months of my mission had been good, but that morning I felt hopeless and discouraged. I had been transferred to a hard area, and we were not teaching many people. We would go from door to door, day after day, but with little success.
As I tried to read my scriptures, my mind wandered. “Why do I have to serve in this area?” “Why is it so hard?” “What are we doing wrong?” There were so many questions going through my mind, but I did not know the answers. I only knew that I was ready to quit.
I sighed and tried to return to my studies, but it was no use. “What’s the point?” I thought. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone to teach in this area anyway.”
In desperation I knelt and began to pray. I had read in the scriptures about crying to God, but I did not really understand what it meant until that moment. I prayed hard and fervently, pouring out my heart. I asked God to help me get through my mission and to help us have success. I asked Him to help me so I would not be discouraged and to give me the strength to go on. I asked Him to help me study, because I knew I could gain something from the passages of scripture I was trying to read.
I closed my prayer and tried to read again. This time the scriptures opened up to me, and I felt intrigued by the story I was reading. It was in Alma 26. I realized the story was about missionary work. Aaron and Ammon were missionaries who had challenges that were more severe than what I was experiencing. They were put in prison, beaten, laughed at, threatened with their lives, and condemned for their beliefs. Their faith was tried also. They did not give up. Instead, they were faithful and strong through all their trials. I then realized that if Ammon and Aaron could endure all their trials, then I could endure mine too.
I read more of the story and saw the blessings that Ammon and Aaron received. They saw thousands of people experience a change of heart, repent, and be baptized. Their trials eventually brought them indescribable joy.
When I finished reading the chapter, I noticed a plaque that hung on the wall above our desk. It read, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13). I had never really noticed that plaque until then. Reading the verse left me with a wonderful feeling. Christ was my strength because He knew what I was going through. He suffered all things. He even knew what it was like to be a discouraged, frightened young missionary serving in Georgia.
After I went through the trials, I did see the blessings. We were teaching one woman who was truly prepared to receive the gospel. She told us she wanted to be baptized. I grew to love her as a daughter of God, and when I saw her baptism, I felt the same joy that Aaron and Ammon felt—pure, indescribable joy.
Throughout my mission I saw many others come into the gospel. I saw miracles. I never forgot that scripture: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” Whenever I felt discouraged or afraid, I would think about that scripture and remember that Christ was my strength and that He would not leave me alone. I knew that with Christ on my side as my strength, I could do all things.

I have a dear friend who has struggled with depression at times in her life. She is such a perfect example to me of how thoughts lead to actions and actions lead to habits. At one particular point in her "teenager mothering era," she really struggled with depression because of feelings of inadequacy and feeling deep concern for one particular son who was doing things that she knew were very detrimental and damaging to himself and to the family.

During this period of depression, my friend spent a lot of time on her knees seeking guidance. She said that as she prayed for help, the name of a new sister in the ward kept coming to her mind. She could not keep this new acquaintance out of her thoughts, so the next morning, she telephoned the woman. This sister and her family had recently moved into our ward so that they could be near better medical facilities for their young son who had a rare form of cancer that was causing tumors to grow in his brain. He was slowly losing his eyesight because of these tumors. This young mother truly needed a friend and a helper. The mother had two other children who also needed attention. Quickly, my friend became a frequent visitor and caregiver to this family. Her thoughts were no longer focused just on her own personal problems but on her friend's family. This resulted in my friend's depression quickly subsiding, and her wayward teenager was also positively affected by the little boy his mother was helping.

A certain man, having lived a long and productive life, was getting ready to meet his Maker. One night he had a dream during which he was told that because he had been generous with his considerable worldly wealth he would be permitted to take his most valued possession with him when he passed on to the other world. The next morning, the old man set out to put his affairs in order. He liquidated his assets and gave half of all he had to charities and other good purposes. The other half he had converted into gold bars. Upon his death, so the story goes, Saint Peter met him and welcomed him to his new home. But when he noticed the large and heavy bag that the man was carrying, Saint Peter reminded him that no one could bring any earthly goods with them to this place. The old man described his dream and indicated that he had been given special permission to bring this treasure with him.
“Okay,” said Saint Peter, “if you have permission. But may I see what you chose as your greatest treasure?” When Saint Peter looked into the bag, he stepped back in amazement and questioned, “For your treasure you brought pavement?”

As in many things, there is no better example than that of our dear prophet,
Thomas S. Monson. Did you know that when President Monson was going to college he also worked as a waste removal engineer? I do not know if he put it on his resume, but he did work on a wastepaper truck so he could save money to buy an engagement ring for his wife. He fell from the top of the truck and fractured both wrists, which meant he had to study from home for a semester.

When President Monson graduated from college, he interviewed with and received premium offers from major multinational companies. In deciding where he should go, he made his decision a matter of sacred prayer. He has taught us that "there are factors within you and within me, even basic principles with which we have been imbued from our creation, which seem to call out and demand of us our best. Those particular years, those cravings, and those bits of inspiration seem to be telling you and me, seek the best in life.
Look for opportunities where you can be of greatest service."

Shortly after graduation, he had the opportunity to become a commissioned officer in the US Navy, which meant he would need to be released from serving in the bishopric so that he could attend his navy drill. He made it a matter of prayer. He conferred with his former stake president, then Elder Harold B. Lee, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, who counseled him not to accept the commission as a naval officer. President Monson declined the commission and requested to be discharged. Just six weeks later, he was called at age 22 to be the bishop of his ward.

President Monson has taught us that our decisions determine our destiny. He said, "I would not be standing before you had I not followed the counsel of a prophet, had I not prayed about a decision, had I not come to an appreciation of the important truth: the wisdom of God oft times appears foolishness to men. But the greatest single lesson we can learn in mortality is that when God speaks and a man obeys, that man will always be right."

Our ward had enough riding enthusiasts to get the outlaw band more or less mounted. We had purebred stallions, ancient hay burners, a Shetland pony, and one reluctant donkey. He was the only member of the cast who didn’t think it was a good idea. We first noticed this lack of enthusiasm when we had to drag him stiff-legged down the road behind my Volkswagen to load him on a truck. If you’ve got 53 horsepower on one end of the rope and one donkey power on the other, you’ve got a toss-up contest that could go either way. But we finally won.
We loaded him and the rest of the horses and outlaws and headed for the hills.
The train route winds through Provo Canyon, then hugs the hillside around Deer Creek reservoir, and cuts through the fields and pastures of Heber Valley. We set up near a grove of trees and waited.
“Here she comes!” shouted the lookout.
I hollered, “Lights! Action! Roll ’em!” (Whatever that means.)
Lights and roll ’em we didn’t get, but action we did. One blast of the engine whistle and every horse sponsored his own Kentucky Derby in his own direction. Only the donkey was left. He was too ornery to be scared. He just stood stiff-legged by the tracks and sang two-part harmony with the train as it thundered by.
The Creeper was a white puff of smoke in the distance by the time we rounded up the last of the horses, so we dubbed in the train scene later. Speaking of dubbing in, try as much as possible to shoot the scenes in order. Rehearse them while looking through the camera; then try to get it right the first take. It will save film costs and editing time later.
Our script called for a brawl scene climaxed by a pie in the face. For this scene we got the bishop’s permission, because he got the pie in the face. Blueberry cream. It was a beautiful scene and performed with excellent taste, the bishop said.
Close-ups and reaction-to-the-action shots help pace the action. And also try to frame your characters as large as practical in the shot unless it’s a deliberate long shot or scenery shot. Mount your camera on a tripod whenever possible. Even though your cameraman lives the Word of Wisdom, he’s got shaky hands.
You can get synchronized sound with some super-8 movie cameras, but this was more trouble and expense than we wanted. We used a silent screen format with printed titles to show the dialogue and credits. You can type these and photograph them with a close-up attachment on the movie camera. Here, especially, use the tripod, We recorded a rinky-tink piano background (put thumbtacks in the piano hammers to get the “tink”). We play the tape whenever we show the movie.
Showing the movie is, of course, the climax, particularly the premiere showing. We staged a variety show titled “Salute to the Silver Screen.” The whole ward was invited (and came), and the kids did songs, dances, and skits based on great movies of the past. (Unfortunately most of the great movies are in the past.) Then we honored the cast and showed the movie. “The Great Train Robbery” will never get an Oscar, but it was a “ward winning” movie.

An experience which remains vivid in my mind when I felt the Savior yoked up with me, was during the October 2010 general conference. A missionary who had struggled for over six months with homesickness and wanting to go home was really weighing me down. As we approached general conference, I asked for inspiration on how to deal with this challenge. I also asked the missionaries to identify personal issues they were struggling with, then to listen carefully for what would be said in the general conference. Missionaries were asked to listen to both spoken and unspoken words.

We had just watched the Saturday afternoon session, and we were waiting for the priesthood session. Since we were watching the sessions live, it was past midnight in Harare. Some of us were outside, and this missionary who had been struggling with homesickness came and stood next to me. He simply said, “President, I have decided to stay.”

I could hardly believe what he had said. I asked him, “Why have you decided to stay and serve your mission?”

He said that he felt it was the right thing to do. Then he added, “I decided to stay not for myself, but for my children and grandchildren.”

We embraced and rejoiced together.

This missionary became one of our strongest elders. He inspired other missionaries to look to the Lord and to serve with humility, faith, and power.

Now he and his sweetheart have been sealed in the temple, and they are noble, righteous parents. His decision to stay on his mission surely has brought blessings to his family and it will continue to do so forever.

I felt the Lord’s love in taking upon me his yoke as we listened to general conference and sensed this missionary felt the same way. As I now reflect on what transpired, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words come to mind: “If we teach by the Spirit and you listen by the Spirit, some one of us will touch on your circumstance, sending a personal prophetic epistle just to you.”1

Illustration by Mark Robison
“The rain barrel is empty,” said 10-year-old Lydia as she wiped a plate dry. “May I use some well water on my raspberry patch?”
Lydia’s mother sighed as she washed a bowl in the sink. “I’m afraid raspberries are a luxury during a drought. You may use the dish rinse water, but we need to save the well water.”
Lydia frowned. Her raspberry jam had once won a blue ribbon at the Iowa State Fair. She didn’t think her berries would be as delicious if she used dishwater on them.
Lydia’s father came into the kitchen and sat down heavily. He wiped his sweaty forehead.
“Are you all right, Stephen?” Mother asked.
“I’m fine,” Father said, “but I have some bad news. The well has finally gone dry.”
Lydia felt a stab of worry. A lot of the neighbors’ wells had already dried out. Mother twisted her apron in her hands.
“Don’t despair,” Father said gently, taking Mother’s hand. “We still have the deeper windmill well out in the fields. I’m taking the tank truck there right now.”
“May I go?” Lydia asked, suddenly feeling better. She was so glad they had that windmill!
“Yes,” Mother said. “I’ll save the rinse water for you.”
“Thank you!” Lydia hurried outside. Maybe if she helped fetch the well water, Father would let her use some on the raspberries.
Father climbed into the truck, and they began their dusty drive to the far end of the fields. When they reached the windmill, Lydia sat up and stared. Several wagons and trucks lined the road, and a crowd of people stood around the well. All of them had tanks and barrels.
“What are they doing?” Lydia asked.
Father narrowed his eyes. “Getting water, it looks like.”
“But it’s our water!” Lydia said. She imagined her raspberries drying out under the hot sun. “We need it. They can’t just take it!”
Father parked the truck and hopped out. “Stay put, Lydia,” he said.
The people around the well froze and silently watched Father approach.
Lydia couldn’t hear what Father said, but when he finished talking, she was surprised that many of the people were smiling. Some even cried and shook Father’s hand. Then they all worked together to fill all their barrels and tanks.
Lydia didn’t understand. Why was Father doing this?
When the crowd left and Father began filling his own tank, Lydia climbed out.
“You gave away our water,” Lydia muttered. Confusion and anger washed over her.
Lydia’s father stooped down so he was face-to-face with Lydia. “Listen carefully, Lydia Lucille. I figure the water in this well is a gift from God. We no more own it than we own the air we breathe. As long as there is water in this well, we will share it with those in need.”
Father then dipped a ladle into a bucket and handed it to Lydia. Gratefully she drank the cold, clean water. She thought about all the other people and how scary it must be for them to not have water of their own. She was glad her father decided to share.
Lydia scrambled back into the truck. She was anxious to get home and pour the dishwater on her thirsty berries. She might not get as many big, juicy raspberries this year. But whatever she got, she would be sure to share.
Even though many people used the windmill well on Lydia’s farm during the summer drought of 1930, the well never ran out of water.

A true story from the USA.
“Can I have the last cookie?” Jack asked.
“Let’s save it for tomorrow,” Mom said. “It’s time for bed.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. He brushed his teeth. He put on his pajamas. And he kept thinking about the cookie.
He went to the kitchen for a drink of water. The cookie was in a bag by the sink. No one was looking.
Jack snatched it and dashed to his room. He pulled the cookie from the bag and took a bite. Yummy.
Then he heard footsteps. It was his brother! Jack dove under his blanket.
“What are you doing?” Trevor asked.
Jack found a book under the blanket. “Um … reading.”
Trevor pulled the blanket off Jack. “With a cookie?”
“I … I’m using it as a bookmark,” Jack said.
Mom walked in too. “A cookie for a bookmark?”
Jack pulled the blanket back over himself. He hoped Mom and Trevor would go away. They didn’t.
Jack’s face felt hot. He peeked out from the blanket. “I took the cookie so I could eat it.”
“Thanks for being honest,” Mom said.
Jack frowned. “But I don’t feel better.”
Mom sat on the bed. “Praying for forgiveness can help. Jesus Christ can help you feel peace again.”
Mom and Trevor knelt and prayed with Jack. He said sorry for taking the cookie and lying.
When he finished, Jack smiled. “Hey, I do feel better!” He handed the cookie to Mom. “And I bet this will taste even better tomorrow!”
Watch a video of this story at friend.ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

It was a hot summer day in southern California, and I was a typical teen enjoying my summer by sleeping late. I was getting out of bed when the doorbell rang. I raced my mom to the door. We were both surprised by a group of 10 to 15 teens my age.
They greeted us with a smile and explained that as part of a youth conference they were on a service scavenger hunt for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They showed us a list of services and asked my mom to check off the items on the list they could do. My mom did, and they were soon busy pulling weeds, washing windows, and mowing our lawn. It was fun watching them all work together.
When the chores were complete, you could tell they had worked hard by the sweat on their faces and the dirt on their hands, but they looked pleased with the work they had done and thanked us for the opportunity to serve.
My mom offered them a big tip, but they refused. Feeling like they should not leave without us giving them something, I quickly ran into the house and returned with cold glasses of water.
After refreshing themselves, they asked if they could leave us with a song. As they sang “I Am a Child of God,” I felt a respect and love as you would for old friends, even though I had just met them.
I joined them for the next few houses, working side by side, feeling a sense of peace and acceptance. As I walked home, I was consumed in my own thoughts. I was in awe at how the youth were spending their day serving others.
I went straight to my room and wrote a thank-you letter for their service and how they had touched me. Without signing it, I put the letter and all the money I had, about $39, inside the envelope and drove to the church to tape it to the door.
From that day on, my life would never be the same. Not long after, I started spending time with youth in the Church and was touched spiritually by so many members helping me on my journey. Part of that journey was hearing the missionary discussions that led to my baptism a year later. Since that time, I have been married to a worthy man in the San Diego California Temple, and we have two beautiful daughters.

Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that someday her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.
These sweet memories about the spirit of temple work were a blessing in our farm home, our little rural ward of three hundred, and the old Oneida Stake. These memories have returned as I have performed the marriage of each of our children and grandchildren—my mother’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren—under the influence of the Spirit in the house of the Lord.

Lemon Bread
It was almost an hour’s drive through a maze of snow-feathered trees to get to the Cornings’ home. Sister Corning was my first baptism as a missionary. I taught my first discussion in that small, backwoods house near Rollingdam, New Brunswick, Canada. After a lesson Brother Corning would get his old out-of-tune guitar, and we would all sit around the oil-burning stove singing folk songs. The air would soon be filled with the tangy, sweet smell of lemon bread baking. Sister Corning taught my companion and me how to make that special treat.
You will need:
1/2 cup shortening or margarine
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
Rind of 1 lemon, grated
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup sugar
Mix the ingredients, except for the juice and the 1/2 cup sugar, in the order given, then pour into a loaf pan. Put this into an oven preheated to 300° F and bake until done. (Stick a toothpick in the center of the loaf; if it is done, the toothpick will come out clean.) Mix the juice of 1 lemon with 1/2 cup sugar and pour over the bread while it is still hot.

On a typical shopping day, you might see Valerie and Julia’s mom in the grocery store, pushing a cart loaded with twenty loaves of bread or fourteen gallons of milk. But she’s not buying food for the next ward party—she’s just doing the usual shopping for her family!
There are twenty people in the Mackey family. Valerie and Julia (both 9) became sisters nearly five years ago when their parents married in the Arizona Temple. Valerie’s mom, Eileen, had six children, and Julia’s dad, Jim, had nine. Later, the family was blessed with three more boys—Jimmy (3), Adam (1 1/2), and newborn Samuel.
Needless to say, the Mackey household is a lively one. All the children live at home except Stacy, the oldest, who’s on a mission in Brazil. There’s always someone bringing friends home or running off to athletic practice, a job, or another activity. In spite of the different schedules, the family usually manages to eat dinner together. Every day Julia and Valerie set the long table with eighteen place settings, then clear it when dinner is through.
The two sisters love to do things together, like jump on one of the two trampolines in their backyard, and race through a field near their home. They also like to swing on their swing set and to ride their bikes. The warm Arizona weather lets them play outside almost all year round.
They share a room with Shirley (6) and Jimmy (3). Sometimes they curl up on the top bunk and read together. They like reading books from their school library, and they especially like it when Mom reads to them from a book of children’s Bible stories.
The busiest day of the week at the Mackey house is “Terrible Tuesday.” That’s when Julia and Valerie help fold and bag the newspapers their brothers deliver. It’s also when they take piano lessons, along with Jill (14), Joseph (14), Orrin (12), and Trevor (11). The two girls have been playing for nearly two years, and they like it.
“They practice every morning and don’t ever complain,” their mom says. Another thing they do each morning is read scriptures at 5:30 with the rest of the family—at least, with all those who can read.
Julia and Valerie aren’t just sisters—they’re good friends. At home they’re almost always together. “Their personalities blend well,” Mom says. Valerie is the more “motherly” of the two. She’s been changing diapers since she was four years old and likes to help take care of her little brothers. When she grows up, she’d like to take care of other people’s children as well. She also likes to sing, and she even makes up some of her own songs.
Julia is dramatic and full of energy. She has an excellent memory—Mom says she can hear a song once or twice and have it learned. She loves animals and likes to take care of Belle, the dog that she and Valerie own.
So what’s the best thing about having such a big family? Julia and Valerie’s sister Mandy (16), says, “You’re never alone.” There’s always someone around to tease, play basketball with, or just talk to. And the worst thing? “You’re never alone,” Mandy says with a laugh. After all, with five kids sharing one bedroom, four in another, four in another, and two in still another (Adam sleeps in Mom and Dad’s room), privacy is hard to find.
But Valerie and Julia wouldn’t have it any other way.

Elizabeth loved going to Primary every week. She loved singing Church songs and feeling the peaceful spirit there. She loved all her friends in Primary. But then her Primary class changed.
A new boy named Joseph moved in, and he seemed different from the other kids. His clothes were rumpled and dirty, and he didn’t seem to know when to talk and when to be quiet. He never raised his hand.
When Elizabeth talked to her mom about the new boy, her mom said that Joseph came from a “hard situation.” Elizabeth wasn’t really sure what that meant, but she noticed that Joseph’s family didn’t come to church with him.
A few weeks after Joseph started coming to Primary, the trouble started.
“Everyone sit down so we can begin class,” Sister Johnson said. All the kids started to take their seats, but when Joseph sat down, everyone moved away from him.
From then on, if Joseph sat on one side of the room, everyone hurried and moved to other side. It was like a game of musical chairs, where everyone tried to move as far away from Joseph as possible. Elizabeth had been taught to be kind, but even she began to play the musical chairs game. Sister Johnson told everyone to stay in their seats, but it was obvious—no one wanted to sit by Joseph.
Then one week at church, Joseph wasn’t there. Then another week, and another week passed, and Joseph still didn’t come.
Elizabeth wondered about Joseph and why he wasn’t coming to church anymore. She thought that maybe it was because of his “hard situation.” Or maybe he had moved away. But she just couldn’t get rid of an icky feeling that she had done something wrong. The more she thought, the more Elizabeth realized that their musical chairs game had been mean and wrong and that maybe it was the reason Joseph stopped coming to church.
One night after family prayer, Elizabeth gave her mom a hug and started to cry.
“Mom, I think I did something wrong. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
Elizabeth told her mom about how no one in her Primary class wanted to sit next to Joseph. She told her how they had all laughed and tried to get the farthest seat away from him and how she felt bad for being mean to him. Elizabeth and her mom talked about repentance and what she could do to feel better and make things right.
Mom said, “Joseph is a child of God. It doesn’t matter if he looks and acts different; Heavenly Father loves him. We should always treat others like they are valuable, because they truly are.”
Elizabeth promised herself that she would never treat anyone like that again. Even if it meant being less popular, she would treat everyone like a child of God.
One Sunday, Joseph finally returned to Primary. When the other kids started to giggle and race to find a seat away from Joseph, Elizabeth chose the seat right next to him.
“Hey, Joseph! What’s up?” she asked with a warm smile.
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story.
For Elizabeth, the musical chairs game was over. Joseph would always have someone to sit by now.

One young man I will call Joseph said, “In my school I’ve always been known by what I can and cannot do. People say, ‘Joseph can’t drink coffee or alcohol. Joseph doesn’t look at pornography or swear.’ Now I want them to know the reasons.”

He said that when people used to ask him why he lives this way, he would say, “Because of my church.” That’s a good answer, but there are better ones. Now he refers to the principles in the For the Strength of Youth guide:

Illustrations by Emily Davis
Why do you go to church on Sunday?
Because I love God and others.
Why don’t you drink coffee or alcohol?
Because my body is sacred.
Why don’t you look at pornography?
Because I want to walk in the light.
Isn’t it hard trying to be so good all the time?
Sometimes, but Christ helps me.

One research study reported that some young people are choosing to leave religion because they don’t see the reasons for the rules and boundaries associated with religion.2 Joseph is not one of those. The For the Strength of Youth guide is helping him know those reasons for himself and share them with others. It can do the same for you.

I know this struggle well. My own anticipatory fears nearly stopped me before I even started my journey at BYU. To start, I didn’t really want to go to BYU. I wanted to stay in California and was determined to do something different from all the other kids in my ward. Truthfully, I know that one of the biggest reasons I didn’t want to go to BYU was because I feared I wasn’t smart or spiritual enough to make it here. But the Lord knew otherwise. He strongly prompted me to apply and to attend BYU. I followed that prompting.

Often when we act faithfully on promptings, we believe that the challenge is over. But from experience, most of us know that isn’t always true. Despite my efforts to move forward in faith, I felt impostor syndrome right away. My major was full of valedictorians who were more articulate and who were better writers than I was. And as a transfer student, I felt everyone understood everything better than I did, including the BYU fight song. I struggled at church and in my religion classes to feel that I understood the gospel as well as everyone else did. I was being swallowed up in self-doubt. Everywhere I turned, all I could see was evidence that all the fears I had about myself before coming here were true. I did not belong at BYU.

However, that year I was blessed to end up in an apartment with some of the most wonderful women of faith. They helped me reframe my thoughts and focus on all God had done to prepare me for BYU and on what this opportunity could mean for my spiritual and intellectual growth. I began to understand the roles that Heavenly Father, the Savior, and the Holy Ghost played in my life and learning. Realizing this freed me to come to this experience imperfectly, trusting that They could make me more than I was. This perspective also helped me better see others in their own struggles and extend love and comfort to them. Most of all, it calmed my mind. I did belong here, and God knew it was where I could thrive and grow. I shudder to think of all I would have missed if I had surrendered completely to those fears.

As a young forest technician recently graduated from college, I was working with the project forester in the Porcupine Hills of Alberta, Canada. We were assessing what had happened in the forest over the winter in regard to the mountain pine beetle infestation.
As the two of us prepared for our day’s activities, the forester noticed I had failed to pack water. I justified my decision by explaining to him that since this was early spring, there would be plenty of water from streams and creeks flowing in the hills. By not carrying any water, I’d be saving weight and room in my day pack. He seemed to accept my reasoning just fine, and off we went for an exhilarating day of work in the bush.
After we had worked for a few hours, I was starting to get thirsty. I could hear a creek flowing not too far distant from where we were, so I headed off through the forest to the creek. What I saw intensified my thirst: crystal clear water flowing over white, pristine sheets of ice. It was beautiful to the sight, and I knew I was in for a treat. As I knelt by the creek’s edge and cupped my hands, the forester said, “I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”
I didn’t pay any mind to him as I had a thirst to quench. The second the water wet my tongue, I knew I’d made a mistake. I immediately spit the water out. The forester had been right, and now he was having a pretty good laugh at my misfortune. What should have been pure heaven to my taste buds left me with the rancid and putrid flavor of cow manure. I might as well have been chewing on a cow patty!

We of the Valley View Sixth Ward Aaronic Priesthood MIA would like to thank you for giving us a great idea for a service project. We built a dollhouse from the plans you published in the December 1972 New Era and donated it to the Festival of Trees, which is a charitable benefit. The house was sold for $500, and the money went to the Primary Children’s Hospital. We are enclosing a picture of the finished product. Thanks again.
Myrna Ure, Terrie Anderson, Helen Biesinger, Tina Waldram, Marianne Gronning, Ellen Cannon, Jan Currey, Kathy Clark, Helen Pergler, Lloyd BerentzenSalt Lake City, Utah

Early one morning, four-year-old Max was awakened by his growling stomach. Everyone else was still sleeping.
He jumped out of bed and went quietly to the kitchen.
“I’m going to make my very own breakfast,” he said in a low voice so he wouldn’t wake anyone up.
“I think I will make myself some eggs.” He got out the frying pan, then thought, That sure sounds good, but I’m not allowed to use the stove by myself. So he put away the frying pan.
“I know—I’ll make some brown-sugar oatmeal.” But when he looked at the kettle, he remembered that he wasn’t allowed to touch it. Sometimes it had very hot water in it, and he might burn himself.
“I guess I’ll make some toast.” He got out the bread and reached for the toaster before he remembered that he wasn’t to use the toaster by himself. So he put the bread away.
Max was getting very hungry by now. But he didn’t want to wake up anybody, and he still wanted to make his own breakfast.
He had an idea. He got out the pita bread, a spoon, the peanut-butter jar, and a banana. He carefully spooned some peanut butter into the pita-bread pocket. He peeled the banana, broke it in half, and tucked one half into the pocket too. There it was, a pita surprise!
He went to the fridge and got out the milk. He was just pouring it carefully into a glass, when his mom came into the kitchen. “That looks really good!” she said. “Is this for me?”
“Uh—sure, Mom.”
Mom picked up the pita surprise from Max’s plate and took a bite. Then she took his glass of milk, drank some, and said, “This is good! You’re a sweetheart to have made my breakfast this morning. Thank you very much!”
“You’re welcome, Mom.” Max hurried to make himself another pita surprise.
Now on weekends, before Mom goes to bed, she puts out on the table the pita bread, a spoon, different spreads, and some fruit. Max-the-chef is in charge of making everyone a pita surprise for breakfast.