Gospel Story Finder

One ever remembers that Christmas day when giving replaced getting. In my life, this took place in my tenth year. As Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train; rather, I wanted one that operated through the miracle of electricity. The times were those of economic depression; yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train.

For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Mrs. Hansen’s son Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky, not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.

Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track. Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”

I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment. I’ll be right back!”

As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car, plus an additional car from my train set, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and joyfully said to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy, difficult to describe and impossible to forget. The spirit of Christmas had filled my very soul.

I was only three years old and did not want to leave the hospital, where my parents were recuperating after the car accident.
Photograph courtesy of the author; photograph corners form Getty Images
I struggled for many years with trauma and anxiety associated with a car accident that my parents and I were involved in when I was three. My unborn brother did not survive.
On the 25th anniversary of the accident, I had a flashback. Several months later, I was still struggling when a friend suggested that I turn to my Heavenly Father. I laughed and then asked, “What is He going to do for me?”
My struggles continued. After another year or two, I was tired of hurting and my pain was turning to anger. I took my friend’s advice and began to turn to God.
“If You are really there, send someone—anyone,” I prayed. “I need someone!”
The day came and went as I stood in my doorway, waiting in vain.
“See, God, nobody cares!” I said. “Nobody came!”
As tears rolled down my face, I slowly entered the house and shut the door. I walked up the stairs feeling defeated. But when I reached the top of the stairs, a powerful feeling came over me. It was so strong that it dropped me to my knees.
Then this thought came into my mind: “ReNae, I have been carrying you.”
Heavenly Father sent that powerful thought to me in a tender way when I needed it most. I realized that He does love me and that He does know me. He loves me so much that He has given me moral agency. He will not force me or anyone else to follow Him, but He and His Son invite us to come unto Them (see Matthew 11:28–30).
Since that day, I know that I can rely on Him. My life is better now because I strive to follow Him and to hear Him every day. While Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ allow me to feel pain, They also bring me peace, comfort, strength, and courage so that I can learn from doing hard things. Feeling pain helps me to understand and support others who are struggling.
We may never completely know what others are going through, but we can show love to those around us. I am grateful I know that my Heavenly Father loves me and listens to me when I call upon Him.

In 1913 a Czech sister living in Vienna, Austria, was baptized. Her name was Frantiska Brodilová. During World War I, she, her husband, and their two daughters moved to Prague. After the war, Sister Brodilová was the only Church member living in Czechoslovakia. She faithfully sent her tithing to the Vienna Austria Branch and taught both her daughters the gospel. In 1921, two brethren from the Vienna Austria Branch went to Prague and baptized her teenage daughters.

For years, Sister Brodilová and her daughters prayed that missionaries would be sent to their country. If there were missionaries, there would be more members, and a branch or ward could be organized where she and her daughters could go to worship and partake of the sacrament. Finally in 1928 the Church obtained permission from the police and from the government to preach the gospel. Then, just two and a half months after the mission began, it closed when the mission president became ill.

Frantiska would not give up. She wrote to the Church, asking that missionary work begin again. On July 24, 1929, on a wooded hill near Karlstejn Castle, the land of Czechoslovakia was dedicated for the preaching of the gospel. Missionary work went slowly, but it had begun!

Photographs by Ntebaleng Twala and courtesy of the family
She rides her horse. She stands up on top of her horse. But that’s not all. This 12-year-old from South Africa even sails over jumps with her horse!
It takes a special kind of relationship between horse and rider to pull off such feats safely. And Kelly K. truly is quite close with her horse, Delta. Yet if you ask what her most important relationships are, she’ll probably tell you about her family.
“My siblings are really important to me,” Kelly says. Her parents are important to her as well, of course. Kelly explains that sometimes it’s harder for teens to stay as close to their parents when they get a bit older, but she’s found some strategies that help. “For me, it’s just the simple things, like talking with my parents or spending time with them that has improved our relationship.”
That closeness makes a huge difference in her life.
As Kelly says, staying close as a family starts with spending time as a family. One of the ways they enjoy spending time together is to get up close and personal with some of the biggest animals on the planet! “We go on safari rides several times a year,” Kelly says. Plenty of great memories have piled up during these rides.
“The funniest memory is when it was pouring rain one time,” she says. The safari ride was going full speed, which made those raindrops sting. So her family huddled close together, laughing, to form a sort of human shield against the rain. And it worked! “We made each other warm!” she says.
Sports are another big part of her family, especially among her siblings. It’s another way they spend time together, both in playing together and in cheering each other on. As the youngest of five, Kelly has found that the easiest way to bond with her older siblings is to make the effort to learn more about their sports. “I love watching my older brothers play rugby or golf. And I also try and learn their sports a little so that when they’re practicing we can interact and play together.”
Kelly’s older sister is also into riding horses, so that’s a great and natural way for the two of them to connect. Kelly also enjoys running track, and her siblings love to support her.
In addition, the whole family loves playing cards and other games together. As President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then-Second Counselor in the First Presidency, has said, “In family relationships love is really spelled t-i-m-e, time.”1
With Kelly’s family members being some of her greatest friends, they also help fill in gaps when other friendships hit bumpy patches. For example, there aren’t a lot of Church members where Kelly lives. Sometimes the difference in values between Kelly and her friends has been a challenge for her.
“When I was younger, I kind of got lost in what my friends wanted me to be,” she says. “But reading the scriptures and praying helped. I also turned to my family.
“One time I asked my friends to change their bad music, but that didn’t really work. They just said, ‘If you don’t like it, go home.’ So I prayed and asked Heavenly Father what I should do. He told me to call my parents and go home.”
Come what may, she knows she can rely on her family for help. “My mom and dad, they’re always there.” And so is the rest of her family! One time, two of Kelly’s friends moved away. This was especially tough because Kelly had grown very close to those friends. Once again, her family made the difference.
“My family was there for me when I needed a shoulder to cry on or just to talk,” Kelly says about that difficult time. “They always know how to help me and just wrap me up in a blanket when I need it.”
With all she loves about living in South Africa—the weather, the safari animals, the temple in Johannesburg—there are also a few hard parts about living without many other Church youth nearby.
However, she knows the gospel and her faith in Jesus Christ have been her strength. “I don’t know where I’d be without the gospel,” Kelly says. “I am grateful that the Church is there. The scriptures really bless my life. And Heavenly Father is always going to be there. I live my standards because they help me feel happy and safe. And I don’t really want to be like the kids who get into a lot of trouble. I’d rather choose the right, because I know the gospel is true.”
There’s another massive motivation to Kelly for living the gospel—and that’s her love for her family. “I know that I can be with my family forever if I stick to the right path,” she says. “And I want to be with my family.”

Everyone can remember a special teacher that has made a profound difference in their life. I will ever be thankful to Miss Hamilton, my second-grade teacher. She was also my Sunday School teacher. I can still recall her saying, “Now remember, always be a good boy!” and “I am so proud of you.” She always made me feel very important. I grew to love her, and I’m sure she loved me. That school year was a glorious one. I hated to see it come to a close. The news traveled fast in the small town of Sugar City, Idaho, and one summer day my mother called me in the house to inform me of the disastrous news: my dear Miss Hamilton had gone and gotten married! And she didn’t even check with me to see if it was all right.
Our daughter-in-law, also a teacher, received a note at the end of a school year from one of her third-grade students. He wrote, “Miss Scoresby, I will miss you more than my pet gerbil that died.”
We are in essence a church of teachers. Regardless of life’s circumstances or the nature of one’s calling, all members of the Church have the opportunity to teach and to testify. The very nature of our lives bears witness of what we believe and teaches all who come within our sphere of influence.
Many, perhaps most, adult members of the Church, however, find themselves in a position to teach in a more direct manner. Leaders, parents, and called teachers have the specific responsibility to constantly improve their teaching abilities so they can prepare, train, and edify those who fall within their stewardship. President David O. McKay reminded us that “the proper training of childhood is man’s most important and sacred duty” (Gospel Ideals [1953], 220). The Lord has made it clear that parents shall “teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord” (D&C 68:28).
There is power in the doctrines of the Church—hence the need for us all to be ever learning and constantly fortifying ourselves spiritually. President Hinckley has said: “The forces against which we labor are tremendous. We need more than our own strength to cope with them. To all who hold positions of leadership, to the vast corps of teachers and missionaries, to heads of families, I should like to make a plea: In all you do, feed the Spirit—nourish the soul. … I am satisfied that the world is starved for spiritual food” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1967, 89; or Improvement Era, Dec. 1967, 85–86).
President Hinckley made that statement nearly 30 years ago at a general conference. Then, how much more need have we to be spiritually fortified today! Indeed, inspired gospel teaching among all members of the Church is a lifeline to the spiritual stability and growth of members of all ages.
Technology will surely advance and methods will certainly change, but the personal touch by a dedicated, loving teacher who radiates the Spirit is the key to filling the desire of the writers of this 1899 document, which was to teach the children and others the “principles of the Gospel of Jesus Christ; to make Latter Day Saints of them.” In the name of the greatest teacher of all, even Jesus Christ, amen.

Sister Groberg remembers with deep appreciation the closeness among the youth of her age in their ward. She gives thanks, in part, to the quiet, powerful influence of a humble, dedicated Sunday School teacher whose life and example made a lasting impression. She explained: “Brother Richard Maxwell was our teacher. He was self-educated,” she recalled. “He never knew his real name, his parents, or any of his ancestors: He had been raised in an orphanage. Someway in his wandering through life, he found the true church. He had such a beautiful testimony that the gospel was what life was all about, and he had a wonderful, understanding way with young people. He loved us,” she declared, then continued with warmth in her voice: “He was able to teach and reach us in his own humble way.”
When Brother Maxwell died of a heart attack, Jean, along with the other youth in the North Hollywood Ward still in their teens, felt so grateful for his life and his love and influence in their lives that they felt they had lost a dear friend. Sister Groberg remembered that her sister, Marilyn, was invited to speak at his funeral. “She went around to all his students to get their feelings for this humble, great man who had become such a friend to each of us. Our feeling for Brother Maxwell,” Sister Groberg said, “was a very special thing.”
These grateful students felt a strong desire to somehow express their appreciation for their friend and teacher. “It took some time after he died to collect the money,” she recalled. “Several months, I believe. We sponsored many projects. We took a little box to all our firesides and finally collected the money we needed. We wanted to buy a redwood tree. We all agreed that a redwood tree, when it grew up, would appropriately symbolize Brother Maxwell’s great strength and stature.” The youth were united in this special project. Someone was responsible for having a plaque made to place at the base of the tree, and others arranged for a fitting program. On the appointed date the members of Brother Maxwell’s Sunday School class gathered together for this special memorial service. Together they planted the tree, which they knew would become in time a mighty redwood. This living tribute stands today tall and stately by the side of the chapel and a beautiful bronze plaque at its base reads, “In memory of Richard Maxwell, our beloved teacher whose example was like the redwood, tall and masterly.”

My friend Pete Harris and I figured that since we were finally going to be sixth graders this year, we ought to do something really memorable. We’d been walking those halls since kindergarten. We knew all the janitors and secretaries, and we even knew a secret way to get into the basement. It felt wonderful to be the oldest, “the kings of the school,” as Pete said.
We weren’t sure what memorable thing we wanted to do—maybe get a hundred percent on the yearly basic-skills test, or create a science project that would go on to win the national contest. In any event, we both dreamed that someday people would drive past Roosevelt Elementary School in a kind of hush as they were told, “That’s where Joseph Johnson and Pete Harris got their starts!”
Unfortunately the year didn’t start out very well. There are only two sixth grade teachers at Roosevelt, so you have a fifty-fifty chance of getting Mrs. Wagner. She is really, really old, and she’s known as the meanest teacher in the school. I didn’t know anyone who wanted to be in her class.
As soon as Mom and Dad heard that I was worried about having her for a teacher, they started lecturing me. They told me to stop taking everyone else’s word for it and to give her a chance—as if I already had her! I didn’t care to know that a lot of people (mostly adults) thought Mrs. Wagner was an excellent teacher. I didn’t even care that Sister Miller, a lady in our ward, had had Mrs. Wagner when she was a girl and had been so inspired that she’d become a teacher herself. This only proved to me how very old Mrs. Wagner was, because Sister Miller wasn’t young, either!
I really knew my number was up when my parents started saying, “How do you think Joseph Smith would act if he thought that he was going to get Mrs. Wagner?” I told them I thought that Joseph would have called out the Nauvoo Legion to save him, but it was no use. So it was with no real surprise last August that I received the letter from the school telling me to report to Mrs. Wagner’s class. The worst news, though, was that Pete was in Mr. Harford’s class, and that meant that I’d have to survive the ordeal alone.
On the first day of school Mrs. Wagner asked each of us to stand up, tell our name, and then tell something interesting that nobody else might know about ourselves. That’s OK for new kids, but most of us had been together for six years, and I couldn’t think of a thing. Suddenly I got this idea that made my stomach feel like the inside of a dishwasher: I could tell where I got my name. I tried to forget it and concentrate on some of my interests in sports, but the name idea kept popping into my head. Most of the kids in the class knew that I was a Mormon, but it seemed strange to talk about anything churchy during school. Right before it was my turn, I started hoping like crazy that the recess bell would ring. It didn’t. I wasn’t sure what a guardian angel was, but I was sure that mine had already left for the soccer field.
“Next?” called Mrs. Wagner, and I stood up shakily. Several of the girls started to giggle, which they did every time a boy stood up.
“Well,” I started in a squeaky voice, “my name is Joseph Johnson, and I was named after a prophet.”
I felt every eye in the room on me. As I started to sit down, Mrs. Wagner’s voice lifted me back up.
“Oh? That’s very interesting. Is that the Joseph in the Old Testament, the one with the coat of many colors?”
“No, ma’am. It’s Joseph Smith, a latter-day prophet.” The girls started giggling again, and about three years later the recess bell finally did ring.
I tried to forget all about that first day in the weeks that followed. And as it turned out, Mrs. Wagner wasn’t really as terrible as I had feared. In fact, she made social studies really interesting. She liked to get us thinking about other countries and to see those who lived there as real people with feelings. One of her favorite phrases was “Have the courage to change your opinion when you learn the truth.” Pretty heavy stuff for sixth graders! I was learning a lot, and I forgot all about doing something memorable.
Right before parent conferences, Mrs. Wagner met with each of us privately to go over our scores and to discuss what she would be telling our parents when they came to visit. In my meeting with her, it looked like I was doing well in everything but spelling, and I promised I’d work harder on it the rest of the year. After that, she put all my papers back in a pile and folded her hands on the desk in front of her.
“Joseph,” she said, “I have been noticing things about you this year besides your grades. After reading your essays on the special things you do with your family, I can tell you love them all very much. I’ve also watched you on the playground and in the lunchroom and many other places. You try to be a peacemaker when others are having a fight. You have been sensitive when someone is left out and have gone out of your way to include them. And you show a great deal of respect for the teachers and principal, even when the other kids make fun of them. Frankly, I’m quite impressed with you, and I’m looking forward to meeting the parents who have the privilege of having you in their family.”
Well, I was pretty much in shock all day after that. That night Mom and Dad reported that Mrs. Wagner had commented on my courage to talk about my religion on the first day of class and to live up to my principles. Feeling pretty sheepish for having dreaded her so much, I took to heart Mrs. Wagner’s words to have the courage to change your opinion when you learn the truth, and I admitted that she was a very good teacher.
By spring even the other kids had started saying that it was pretty nice to be in Mrs. Wagner’s class. But I still wasn’t prepared for what happened last Sunday: Just as we started singing the opening song in sacrament meeting, my little sister, Amy, leaned over and whispered, “What’d you do to make Mrs. Wagner follow you here?”
I was about to elbow her in the ribs, when I heard Sister Miller whisper to Mom, “There’s Mrs. Wagner. Isn’t it exciting! I understand that the elders are teaching her the discussions!”
I couldn’t believe my ears! All through the song and prayer, I kept thinking, “Pete will never believe this in a thousand years!”
During the sacrament, however, I started to get a very warm feeling, the same feeling I’d had on the first day of school when I knew I needed to tell everyone that I was named after Joseph Smith. I knew that this feeling was the Holy Ghost and that something very special was happening. I started to remember that I had wanted to do something really memorable in the sixth grade, and now I knew that this was it. My throat tightened up, and tears filled my eyes. I bowed my head and said a little prayer thanking Heavenly Father for letting me have a teacher who had the courage to change her opinion when she learned the truth.

Jeanne serves as a Young Women adviser. Several months ago she learned about an upcoming activity for the youth in the ward: hiking to a place called Malan’s Peak. She was excited because she had recently set a goal to make that climb.

When she arrived at the trailhead, her good friend Ashley approached her. Linking arms with Jeanne, she offered to hike with her, saying, “I’ll go with you.” Ashley, who was 16 years old at the time, had some physical challenges that made it difficult for her to climb very fast. So she and Jeanne walked slowly, noticing Heavenly Father’s creations: the rocks on the mountain peak above them and the flowers all around them. Jeanne later said, “It really didn’t take me long to forget about my goal of hiking to the peak, for it soon became an adventure of another kind—an adventure to point out the beauties along the path, many of which I would have missed had I just hiked to reach the goal of Malan’s Peak.”

As Jeanne and Ashley continued hiking, far behind the rest of the group, they were joined by Emma, another young woman in the ward, who had decided to wait and walk with them. Emma added to their enjoyment. She taught them a song and provided extra support and encouragement. Jeanne recalled: “We sat and rested, we sang, we talked, and we laughed. I was able to get to know Ashley and Emma in a way I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. It wasn’t about the mountain that night—it was about much, much more. It was about helping each other along the path, one step at a time.”

As Jeanne, Ashley, and Emma hiked and sang and rested and laughed together, they probably weren’t thinking, “Hey, we are keeping our covenants right now.” But they were keeping their covenants. They were serving each other with love, compassion, and commitment. They were strengthening each other’s faith as they encouraged and ministered to one another.

Now I think it is folly for one to compare one President of the Church with another. No one takes the place of another President of the Church. Each President has his own place. I had a lesson taught me some years ago when, in company with one of the brethren, I had reorganized the presidency of the Ensign Stake. We had named the bishop of one of the wards as stake president. It was near the end of the year, and he elected to remain as bishop, along with his first counselor, who was a bishop, until they had closed the books at the end of the year.
Six weeks after they were sustained, the stake president suddenly passed away.
Then I began to receive a barrage of letters. Where in the world was the inspiration for you to call a man whom the Lord was going to let die in six weeks? They invited me to talk at his services, and some seemed to be expecting me to try to explain why I had appointed a man that the Lord was going to take home in six weeks.
President Joseph Fielding Smith sat on the stand and heard my attempt to satisfy these people, and he said to me, “Don’t you let that bother you. If you have called a man to a position in this church and he dies the next day, that position would have a bearing on what he will be called to do when he leaves this earth.”
I believe that. I believe that every President of this church, every apostle of this church, every bishop, every stake president, every presiding position will have a bearing on what one is called to do when he leaves this earth.

A few months ago, a friend came to our home under the pretext that he had some questions about the Church he needed help in answering. He said he had discovered the Book of Mormon was not the word of God and that Joseph Smith was not a prophet of God. He then proceeded to quote articles and books which were written by enemies of the Church. As he listed his sources, I replied that I also had read them and others, and they had only served to confirm my faith in the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith. He was surprised that I could have read the same things he had read and not believe as he believed. I suggested that he devote at least equal time to the right side of the issue, but he had come with a decision, not a question. His mind was made up. He did not want to know. His heart was closed. I thought of the children of Israel and their reaction to the Lord after he had guided them out of bondage: “And notwithstanding they being led, the Lord their God, their Redeemer, going before them, leading them by day and giving light unto them by night, and doing all things for them which were expedient for man to receive, they hardened their hearts and blinded their minds, and reviled against Moses and against the true and living God” (1 Ne. 17:30).

“Along in the early fall, we used to find wild fruit such as choke cherries, service berries and little red berries called buffalo or squaw berries, all of which we enjoyed very much. One day I decided to have a reception in the evening. So after we camped I asked some of the girls and boys to come and spend the evening at our camp fire after their chores were done. Verbal invitations and short notice never gave offense then. All were delighted to come, no one refused.
“In the meantime, I had asked mother to let me make some buffalo berry pies. Of course, she did. Pies were a great luxury and seldom seen on the plains. I wanted to surprise my guests with the sumptuousness of my refreshments. And I did. Well, I had hardly gotten the ox yokes and some other things artistically arranged before my company arrived, they did not come as late as seems to be customary now. After we had chatted a while and sung some songs, I excused myself to go into the pantry (a box under the wagon) and brought out my pies. In passing the pie, I rather apologetically remarked that they might not be quite sweet enough. One gallant young man spoke up very quickly, saying, ‘Oh anything would be sweet made by those hands.’ And I believed him.
“After serving the company, I joined them with my piece of pie. Well, the first mouthful, I ate and tasted as if it had been sweetened with citric acid! That ended my pie making on the plains. I often wondered how they could have eaten it, but etiquette demanded it. I don’t think there was enough sugar in the camp to have sweetened that pie.”

I received my patriarchal blessing as a young woman and was counseled to prepare myself with a good education and to learn early in life those virtues that go into homemaking and rearing a family. I so wanted the blessing of a family; however, that blessing wasn’t fulfilled until I was 37, when I eventually married. My husband had been widowed, so the day we were sealed in the temple, I was suddenly blessed with not only a husband but a family of four children.

Long before that, there were many days when I felt like I was skiing in flat light, asking the question, “What does the future hold for me?” I tried to follow the admonitions in my patriarchal blessing. I studied diligently to become a schoolteacher and continued my education to become an elementary school principal. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and sought the guidance of the Holy Ghost. I held fervently to the promise of prophets who assured me that if I “remain true and faithful, keep [my] covenants, serve God, and love [my] Father in Heaven and the Lord Jesus Christ, [I] will not be denied any of the eternal blessings our Heavenly Father has for His faithful children.”

I know that my education prepared me for a life that has been nothing like I had envisioned as a young woman. I thought I was studying education to teach school and my future children, but I did not know the Lord was also preparing me to teach English in Mongolia on a mission with my husband and to teach the young women of the Church throughout the world and to teach my grandchildren the value of knowledge—all wonderful blessings I could never have imagined.

Some years ago while I was attending a priesthood leadership session of the Monument Park West Stake conference, this scripture became the theme for the visitor from the Welfare Committee, my former stake president, Paul C. Child. In his accustomed style, Brother Child left the stand and began to walk down the aisle among the assembled priesthood brethren. He quoted the verse, “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” (D&C 18:10.) Then he asked the question, “Who can tell me the worth of a human soul?”

Every man in attendance began to think of an answer in the event Brother Child were to call on him. I had grown up under his leadership, and I knew he would never call on a high councilor or member of a bishopric; rather, he would select one who would least expect to be called. Sure enough, he called from a list he carried the name of an elders quorum president. Thunderstruck, the brother stammered as he asked, “Would you repeat the question, please?” The question was repeated, followed by an even longer pause. Suddenly the response came forth, “The worth of a human soul is its capacity to become as God.”

Brother Child closed his scripture, walked back to the pulpit, and, while passing me whispered, “A profound reply; a profound reply.”

Church membership has brought some sacrifices. “When I was baptized, my father—a military officer—said, `You’re not my son anymore.’ I spoke to him with love and bore my testimony of the Church. But he rejected me and treated me as if I had betrayed my family. And my brothers and sisters distanced themselves from me.”

Carlos’s mother had studied the gospel privately, long before Carlos was baptized. She was converted and had set a baptismal date. “But my father wouldn’t permit it. He told her, ‘If you get baptized, you will never come back.’ So she wasn’t baptized before she died.”

Years later, his father became seriously ill, and Carlos spent many days and nights with him. “Before my father died, a Catholic priest came to do the last rites. But my father said, `I don’t want it. I’m with my son.’ The priest objected, ‘We need to do the prayer.’ But my father said, ‘No, I’m going to do it with Carlos.’ His last words before dying were, ‘Carlos, if I live, my life will change.’ When he said that, I realized that we should do the temple work for him and my mother. And we have done so.”

The second counselor spoke first. He talked about his childhood in a small town and how he made the extra efforts to befriend a boy who had been rejected by all the other children at school. He told us how, twenty years later, that friendless boy, now a successful man, came to him and thanked him for his kindness. He concluded his talk by quoting a scripture about the worth of souls and bearing his testimony of the gospel.

When my parents converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, my father had no stable income. Back then, as today, there was much poverty in the Philippines. Work was hard to find.

So he prayed and told God that he had a testimony of the law of tithing but needed to find employment so he could live it. He promised Heavenly Father that he would pay an honest tithe all his life.

Well, my father did get a job. He found work as a cleaner in the local Coca-Cola manufacturing plant. As he began to pay tithing, his life began to change.

We used to have to walk to church since we did not have enough money to pay for public transportation. That began to change. My dad worked hard in his humble job and began to slowly rise through the ranks, ultimately becoming a sales manager. We could afford transportation in addition to food. One true miracle is that all six of my parents’ children were able to go and finish college.

Regarding that particular miracle, even my father’s coworkers seemed surprised. “How can you send all your children to college?” they would ask. “You make the same amount of money as we do. It doesn’t make sense!”

My father would always smile and say, “I have been blessed because of living the gospel. I have been blessed because I pay tithing.”

One of my favorite examples of trust is contained in a story related by President N. Eldon Tanner. He was 14 years old, and his father, serving as bishop, had gone to prepare for a funeral. He had asked Eldon and his brothers to do the chores while he was gone.
“We decided to ride some calves before we did what he had told us to do. We thought we would have plenty of time, but he came home while we were still riding those calves, and he called us over to him. … he pointed his finger at me and said, ‘My boy, I thought I could depend on you.’ That hurt me very much. I can still almost recall the exact feeling I had at that time. I made up my mind that he would never have a reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on you.’ Right then I made up my mind that the Lord would never have reason to say, ‘I thought I could depend on Eldon Tanner’” (New Era, Jan.–Feb. 1983, p. 14).

It is also very important for you to obey your parents. I had an experience that taught me the importance of obedience. I love horses, and I love to train them to jump. As a young man, I was invited to compete in the Pan-American Games, which are something like the Olympic Games for the countries of North, Central, and South America. For two years I worked very hard to train for this competition. Then one day not long before the games, I disobeyed my coach. I had just finished my training session, and he had told me it was time to stop. But I decided to make a few more jumps. As I did, I fell with my horse and was seriously injured. After all my hard work, I was not able to take part in the competition. We must all learn to be obedient to our trainers—our parents, our leaders, and our teachers. They know how to help us avoid dangers and problems.

Brayden watched the deacons pass the sacrament up and down the aisles.
How am I going to do that? he wondered. January was only a few weeks away, and then he’d be a deacon. But he couldn’t carry a tray and use his walker at the same time.
After sacrament meeting, Mom helped move Brayden into his transport chair. Then she pushed him to Primary. All through class, Brayden kept wondering about how he’d pass the sacrament.
“Hey, Brayden, can you talk for a minute?” Brother Larsen and Mom were waiting in the hall after Primary.
“Sure!” Brayden said. He loved hanging out with the Larsens, especially their son Josh. Josh was a good friend, almost like a big brother, really. And Brother Larsen was kind of like a dad to Brayden. A really cool dad! He was also one of the advisers in Young Men.
Mom pushed Brayden into an empty classroom.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Brother Larsen said. “You’re going to be a deacon soon.”
“Yep.”
“And that means passing the sacrament.”
Brayden nodded. “Yeah.” But how? he wondered again.
“Josh and I had an idea. He and the other young men would like to take turns pushing you in your transport chair. That way you can carry a tray. What do you think?”
Brayden smiled. “I think it sounds great.”
The next couple of weeks went by in a flash. He had a New Year’s Eve party that was a ton of fun—a superhero movie night followed by board games. And the book on robotics that Mom gave him for Christmas was awesome. Just the thing to get him ready for the robotics team at school!
Then before he knew it, it was his first Sunday as a deacon. His sister, Rylie, pushed Brayden next to the other deacons before she went to sit by Mom in the chapel.
“Hey, Brayden, you ready?” Josh said quietly as he sat near Brayden.
“I think so,” Brayden said. His assignment was for the rows on the left. That sounded easy enough. But his stomach still felt twisty.
“Good morning, brothers and sisters,” began the bishop.
The meeting felt normal but different at the same time. It had all the normal pieces. But his own part was brand new.
One of the older boys blessed the bread. After the congregation said, “Amen,” Josh handed Brayden the bread tray. The cool metal handle pressed against Brayden’s palm as he gripped it tight. Josh pushed Brayden slowly and reverently to the left side of the room.
Brayden handed the tray to Sister Wright. She smiled at him, ate a piece of the broken bread, and then passed the tray down her row.
I’m doing it, thought Brayden. I’m passing the sacrament!
“Thanks for helping me today,” Brayden said to Josh after church was over. Then he gave him a mischievous smile. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you next Friday night for video games!”
Brayden and Josh laughed. Brayden was glad he got to pass the sacrament. He knew what an important and sacred ordinance it was.
He was also glad to be part of such a great deacons quorum with friends who were willing to help him! He would be glad to help them too. Especially if anybody ever needed help building an awesome robot!

When Shawn was fifteen years old, he and a friend attended a national basketball training camp with 120 of the best high school players in the United States. A new friend talking with the two Utah players had some unusual misconceptions about Mormons.
“He asked me, ‘There are Mormons where you’re from, right? Do you see them? Do you live by them?’
“I answered him,” says Shawn. “‘Yes, we go to school with them. We see them all the time. Mormons are just like you and me. They are normal people. They look like us. They dress like us. They act like us. They talk like us.’
“He didn’t believe me until I said, ‘I can prove to you that Mormons are just normal people.’ He said, ‘How?’ I said, ‘We’re both Mormons.’ It really shook him up. A few days later, he started asking more about the Church and our ideals. He couldn’t believe we practiced chastity and that we wouldn’t drink alcohol or smoke. We had a very serious discussion for fifteen-year-olds.
“On that same trip was the first time I had ever had to tell the Joseph Smith story. I was asking myself, how much do I really know? I did not feel satisfied with myself at all explaining what I believe. I ended up bearing my testimony to him. That is the best missionary tool in the world. I just couldn’t find a way of explaining everything I knew. But I knew it was true. It was an excellent feeling to know something is really true.”